


The Lone Wolf Dies, But The Pack Survives

by NoGimmicksNeeded



Series: The Path To Eden Is Clear To Those Who Have Faith [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempts, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Smut in chapter 21, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-10-22 11:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 41,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17661554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoGimmicksNeeded/pseuds/NoGimmicksNeeded
Summary: Prophecies are rarely as clear-cut as Jacob Seed would like them to be. Especially when they concern him. The coming enemy is said to have the power to doom them all - or help him personally reach salvation. Jacob may not like it, but the Voice doesn't lie - it's just a shame it never really specifies what is it exactly he should do with this Junior Deputy.





	1. In The Beginning Was The Word

 

 

Joseph is praying. Alone. He does that a lot lately, and Jacob is concerned.

He stands guard, even though he doubts anyone would be stupid enough to attack them in Joseph's own church. His sanctuary. But Joseph had asked him to, so he does exactly that. Gun at the ready, eyes scouring for threats, thoughts kept to himself.

The call of the Voice seems to be much more of a burden than a blessing these days. Jacob can see it on him - clear as day - that things are about to take a serious turn for the worse. Joseph's been restless, fearful, almost impatient. The signs of him barely sleeping are all there- all too familiar, too – as if he’s haunted by something no one else can see or understand. He says that he’s waiting for another vision, one that will supposedly shatter the world as they know it, and damn if that’s not a tough feeling to carry, Jacob thinks. He wishes there were more for him to do to help, so he comes at the first call.

When the time is right, The Father gathers the Family on his island, and goes to pray. Alone.

Again.

Faith seems to feel that something's wrong, too - his little sister sits on the church stairs unusually quiet, picking at a grass blade, her face tense. She’s not singing, she’s not talking to the others of the Inner Circle, she only occasionally lifts her eyes at Jacob for reassurance and safety. John is, of course, talking on his phone, a respectful distance away, but his body language tells Jacob that he is concerned, too.

Jacob's suspicions prove to be right as soon as the doors swing open. Joseph's swaying on his feet, bare chest glistening with sweat and tired face - with tears. He waves away Faith, who rushes to support him, and halts John with a gesture.

Joseph beckons Jacob to come closer.

This _never_ happens.

The Father knows, or at least, suspects, that Jacob finds himself in somewhat of a… crisis of faith at the moment, if you will. And so Joseph shares his visions with the younger siblings, and they talk about them at length, hushed tones turning into joyous exclamations, while Jacob keeps watch.

Jacob doesn't mind. He doesn't feel excluded.

He just does what needs to be done.

So when Joseph waves him over, again, and asks Jacob to walk with him, he knows it's not a good sign.

They walk in silence for a good while, and only halt at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a silver moonlit path in the water. It's serene here. Peaceful. Too peaceful, almost eerie, as if the air itself is thick with anticipation.

"You know, sometimes I think that God, in His infinite kindness, has made a mistake," Joseph finally says, his voice quiet and exhausted.

"What's that?" Against his better judgment, Jacob encourages his brother to continue, because Joseph needs to be listened to, and Jacob is here to ease his burden. Whether or not he wants to be dragged into a theological debate is irrelevant.

"Free will, Jacob. Do as thou wilt, and in that, we find infinite ways to stray from the path. Following His Word when we are free not to is a delicate balance, my brother. So fragile. One single error, and the entire world collapses. Lives around you crumble. Your whole family dies. God's will is not carried out, for there is no one left on earth to do it." Joseph takes a second to level his voice and fails. "I imagined it being easier to bear if I only knew what God wanted from me. I thought, if I only knew how to serve Him, I would find peace. But there is no peace, Jacob. There is _choice_. A choice that is not mine to make, and yet the consequences are for me to bear."

Jacob isn't good at comforting, but he places his hand on Joseph's shoulder anyway.

"You are strong, brother. We will endure," he tells him. He believes in what he says, too. Crisis of faith notwithstanding, his belief in Joseph never waivers.

"This isn't about me," Joseph says, dejected, and adds in a whisper so faint it could be mistaken for wind, "not yet."

Silence falls between them again, filled with heavy dread and tension. Only the sound of a helicopter somewhere in the distance seems to shake The Father out of his mournful trance.

"I saw you die." He turns to face Jacob, tear-stained face glimmering in the darkness. "The Lord… He tests us. He shows me what will happen if we were to fail. If _you_ were to fail."

"I won't fail, then."

Joseph doesn't seem to hear him.

"John… my baby brother… falling and falling, and falling… My Faith… my beautiful, angelic Faith… vanishing in the wind like smoke… And you. My warrior. My protector. Shot like a rabid dog and left to rot, alone, forgotten, forsaken."

The helicopter is getting closer and Jacob is getting antsy, he's eager to return to the church and see to it that everything is as it should be, but Joseph is not done with him just yet.

"But oh, it can be so much better. Our garden, bountiful and filled with song, and our Family, bigger and stronger than ever, unified and _happy_. I know you have your doubts, brother, but I beg you, believe this if nothing else.” His brother presses their foreheads together, a gesture of comfort and love, and Jacob accepts it. Joseph’s next words are a passionate whisper, a prophecy meant for him alone. “She will come to you first, with fire and destruction, and you must - Jacob, hear me - you _must_ make the right choice. For if she is not with us when the Collapse comes, the Gates of Eden will be shut to you… To all of us."

Jacob sees that damned helicopter land somewhere in the general vicinity of the church. He doesn't like it one bit. He doesn't particularly care for Joseph's vision either, but the cryptic messages of the Voice can wait until a real, tangible threat is dealt with.

"Here they come… The locusts in our garden. Or is it lost children, finally returning home?" Joseph laughs, softly, and nods at Jacob, signaling that it's time to go back. "We shall see about that soon enough."

 


	2. The World Is Weak

When the Junior Deputy Ieva Rook hears Jacob Seed's voice talking to her directly for the first time, her instinct is to run. Not from him, no, but to run as far away from the Fang Center she'd just liberated as possible. She knows her capture is inevitable. She just doesn't want to put anyone else in danger.

Or, more accurately, more danger than every single living being in this damned county is already in. Rook hasn't even been here that long, and it's already clear that the entire place is completely, irreversibly, _fucked._ More so than the rest of the world, and that's saying something. The last time she'd been in touch with civilization, the talks about the impending nuclear war were no longer seen as insane conspiracies of apocalypse prophets, but a very tangible, rapidly approaching reality.

Deputy can only wonder how an entire county worth of doomsday preppers could've gotten so out of control. From what she'd read before flying in, the Project had started peacefully enough. It's confusing as to why a whole bunch of people, otherwise hell-bent on building bunkers and hoarding non-perishables, would suddenly take issue with a local religious leader who has better bunkers and more non-perishables than them.

Then the pillage and the murder began, as it always does, and now it's turned to the brother-killing-brother kind of mess she's here to fix, and God help her if she knows how. Save as many of the good guys as you can and kill the bad guys if they don't want to be good again - words she used to live by, years ago, and while it's easy enough in theory, implementing it into practice is oftentimes nigh impossible.

Sure, it's not all really that simple. Or even something to be taken lightly. But the hostile atmosphere, the trigger-happy locals and their shoot-to-kill policy, the isolation and the overwhelming feeling of impending doom remind Rook of a different place. A different time. When she had a different title.

It's like she never left the war, or, possibly, the war has never left her. Her aim is still steady. Her instincts are still sharp. And her only way to cope with it without descending into madness is still the same - trying to not let it all overwhelm her, trying not to take herself too seriously.

And so she books it, across the dirt road, through the field and into the forest-covered mountain range. A crevice between two rocky ridges comes into view, a river gurgling peacefully, and Rook only manages to wonder how long she could hold her breath for when the arrow connects with her thigh.

_There's nowhere you can run,_ the elder Seed's voice echoes in her head, as the world around her rapidly fades into red, and then black.

When she comes to, she's taped to a chair. She doesn't even have to check to be sure.

"You shouldn't have come for me. You should have run." Deputy Pratt's face appears in and out of focus, like a moth against a lamp.

Not a lamp. A projector. Huh.

An impossibly tall man in unmistakable Army green appears to be giving a small assortment of unfortunate fuckers a lecture. Slides on the screen flash one after another, predators and their prey, the weak and the strong. A real Discovery channel special. She imagines this mountain of a man putting together the presentation, selecting slides and photos with care. It's cute.

By the sheer virtue of how much he seems to love the sound of his voice, Rook can safely conclude that she's in the presence of Jacob Seed. That trait really runs in the family. She can vaguely remember seeing the eldest brother when she'd first arrived, she has heard a fair share of his lectures playing on a loop all over the Whitetail mountains, and now she gets to meet him in person. What an honor.

"…and when a nation that's never known hunger or desperation descends into madness… We'll be ready." He concludes his point.

Rook notices how comfortable he seems. How calm and collected he acts. He's passionate about what he has to say, and he truly believes every word of it, but he's not preaching. Deputy knows John's a preacher like The Father, and she'd seen Faith being referred to as _priestess_. Jacob though, he doesn't quite fit the bill. Too level-headed. Too deliberate in his actions. He might be the sanest of the four of them for all she knows, but that only makes him that much more dangerous. That’s why she’d decided to deal with the Whitetail Mountains immediately after leaving Dutch.

He walks towards her with confident, easy grace, singling her out, making her feel on edge.

"Class," Jacob says, addressing primarily her, since it doesn't look like the rest of the diligent students are in any condition to listen, "We've a new kid. Let's make her feel… welcome." He pulls one of the chairs from outside her field of view and straddles it. "What's your name, kid?"

"It's Deputy," she informs him – just to see how he reacts, if nothing else.

He doesn't.

"Doubt it," he says, pulling slightly away from her to inspect her name tag. _Farsighted,_ Rook notes. "but s'okay, deputy Rook. That's all I need to know. For now."

"And you must be Brother Jacob, from that song," Rook replies lightheartedly.

"Ain't _your_ brother, deputy."

"Have you come to set this sinner free?"

He smirks at her, and there's something openly predatory in the way he does that, teeth glinting in the flashing projector lights.

"Not this one."

Rook snorts.

"'Course not. Would've been too easy. What about Pratt? And the rest of your… _captive audience_?"

"You think you're so clever," the smirk never leaves his lips while his eyes are ice cold. "But you're not. You're _weak_. It's not Peaches you should worry about now, or anyone else, and that is your weakness. No self-preservation."

"Really. Because seeing how I'm not dead yet - "

He looks at her, sharply, and that alone is enough to halt her mid-sentence. He doesn't even raise his voice or change his tone when he speaks.

"Shut it," he commands her, and she does, in fact, shut it. To her own astonishment, she obeys without question. Jacob though, he appears to have expected this exact outcome, judging by that smug self-assured look on his face.

"Good," he nods to her in approval. "Keep doing what you’re told, and we might get along just yet. I’m not counting on it, but you’ll survive longer if we do. See, my brother thinks you're _special_ , deputy. I don’t. I'm not in the habit of giving my soldiers preferential treatment. Makes 'em lazy. But Joseph insists. And when Joseph insists, well… I'm willing to make an exception. If you can earn it. Show me that you will cull the herd, deputy Rook. That you will do what needs to be done."

Rook has no fucking clue what that means. Jacob is winding up a music box, and she briefly wonders if he's the kind of bad guy who secretly wants to be good again.

When the music starts playing and a whole new reality comes into existence, it suddenly doesn't matter.


	3. Positive Reinforcement

 

The first dozen or so times Jacob watches the deputy run the training course, she doesn't.

Jacob isn't really sure what he expected. She's definitely not the type to take the path of least resistance, that's fairly certain, seeing how she's been taking on the task of "liberating" his outposts on her lonesome. He is certain the deputy must've received plenty of offers to help, but no, she's apparently either fatally stupid or unreasonably stubborn, or both, because she does _everything_ on her own. She's got nerve, Jacob is willing to give her that, to openly ignore each and every chance to make her own life easier.

And she manages, too, she's doing annoyingly well, putting sticks in The Project's wheels at every opportunity and getting away largely unscathed.

Jacob, however, is thoroughly unimpressed. Deputy's own savior complex means exactly jack shit to him, and outside of that, her combat performance has been decidedly underwhelming. He is not used to defiance, much less defiance this stupid and persistent. She's not the first to refuse to do what she's told, by any means, but it never takes much more than a couple attempts for the other recruits to take their best shot at survival. Jacob doesn't even have to see to it personally. The entire Whitetail Mountains know what happens to the weak.

It's not like they would survive for much longer anyway.

The things that happen _in there_ , while not exactly entirely real, still leave a mark on people. Most of it is in their heads, yes, but in the red haze of conditioned fight-or-flight, the brain tends to perceive the exhaustion and the injuries as real, and so they _become_ real, like phantom pain or muscle memory. Failure to comply or no, the deputy has been at it for hours. Her brain must be telling her she'd sustained multiple killing shots, and so after another one, another infuriating _pathetic_ attempt, she collapses and doesn't get back up again.

If it were up to Jacob, the deputy would've been dead a long time ago. But Joseph had told him to make the right choice, and while the particulars of it are infuriatingly vague, Jacob is pretty sure that killing her ain't it.

For a minute or so, Jacob fights the urge to howl with frustration, and eventually sends Pratt in to collect her. He grits his teeth, _hard,_ and counts to ten. He wills himself to calm his irritation before dealing with this mess that Joseph had thrown at him.

That'd be exactly like Joseph, Jacob thinks, to single out the most disobedient, insufferable idiot, point at her and say, _this one_. If he didn't know his brother better, he'd suspect this to be another fucking test. Another hoop to jump through in order to prove himself, to prove that he's capable, competent, _strong._ But Joseph doesn't require proof, not anymore, he doesn't demand gestures of loyalty, least of all, from Jacob. There must've been a damn good reason for him to pick this idiot out of all other idiots, and if that reason is God's Voice, Jacob isn't in a position to debate it.

Peaches has already helpfully deposited Rook into one of the cages when Jacob goes looking for her. He nods at him in passing, thanking him in his own way, and Pratt makes scarce on command. At least that one is a success, Jacob thinks, leaning against the wall. Somewhat… unconventional, but still a success.

He watches the new one intently and fails to see anything remotely _special_ about her.

Deputy Rook is a small thing, probably 5'2 on a good day, but Jacob wouldn't call her scrawny. Muscular and fit, has to be, to haul this many weapons and gear around on a regular basis. Wide shoulders, calloused hands, her dirty blond hair cut short - not expertly, he notices. Must've chopped it off herself, recently, too, by the look of it, to avoid being easily grabbed by it. That's good. At least some semblance of self-preservation.

She looks young, and while at first Jacob thought her a teenager running away from home and playing grown-up cops and robbers, he knows better now. Former agent in the Hostage Retrieval Team, a couple of very non-recreational trips to the Middle East behind her belt, left the Bureau under circumstances unknown, started from the bottom again in Sheriff Whitehorse's employ.

Most of this is _technically_ classified, but Jacob has his ways and Peaches is very cooperative if nothing else. Hell, his pet deputy Pratt practically leaps at the chance to talk about Rook, and for some inexplicable reason Jacob finds himself irked by it.

There must be something he's not seeing, because last time he'd spoken to John, his baby brother seemed positively _obsessed_ with the Junior Deputy. She'd apparently flown over his valley exclusively to blow half of his silos to high heavens sometime in between fucking Jacob's shit up, and John had almost drowned her for it. It would've been hilarious, all things considered, if he _had_ done exactly that. But of course, leave it to John to be distracted by a pretty face enough to forget who she _is,_ what she's _done_ , what she's prophesied to _become._

And the deputy does, indeed, have a pretty face. John is right, but Jacob is obviously never going to tell him that. Besides, her beauty or lack thereof matters exactly none. Not to him, anyway.

Maybe after he's failed to make the right choice, whatever the fuck it may be, John can take over.

Wouldn't that be something.

Right now, Jacob has to come to terms that his usual methods just don't seem to work on her. Rook is skilled, competent, and determined _._ And she wants to live. It should work on her. It's infuriating because he knows she can do it, she _can_ do what he needs her to, she can do so much _better._

Jacob crouches by her cage, and tells her exactly that.

He tells her again, the next time he gets her on the training course. He tells her she's a warrior, he tells her she's doing well, he tells her she's _strong._

With equal measure of surprise, curiosity, and pride, Jacob watches the deputy come _alive_ at his words. The gun all but sings in her hands, and there's a hint of a smile on her face at each of his reluctant compliments. Gradually, he starts finding it easier and easier to recognize her accomplishments. His usual scathing remarks at her failures are slowly replaced with encouragement to try again.

And she does, over and over, as many times as she's told to. Relentless and merciless, the deputy goes through the same motions, but each time moving slightly faster, more efficiently, with less hesitation. She seems more confident in her actions, as if all she needed to live up to her potential were some vaguely kind words. Even if they come from him, Jacob Seed, her fucking enemy.

There's an unfamiliar pang in Jacob's chest when he instructs Pratt to leave the deputy in the usual body dump, primed and ready for the Whitetail Militia to welcome her with open arms.

He tells himself that her smile has nothing to do with it.

 


	4. Know Your Purpose

  

It's for the better, Jacob thinks begrudgingly, that he is being summoned to Joseph's compound. For days, he'd been tempted to stalk out the deputy, assess the impact that meeting the Whitetail Militia has had on her, see to it that she doesn't stray from the plan he'd set out. She has to earn their trust, he figures, and honestly, it'd be best to leave her to it. Doesn't mean he wants to, he's fucking _invested_ now, and that in and of itself is a sign that he really should let it lie for the time being.

Jacob despises the nuisance, the inconvenience of it all. Objectively there are hundreds of other pressing things he should be doing, more important, too, than supervising a stray deputy, and he hates himself for falling into this trap in the first place. It's nobody's fault in particular that he just cannot back off from a challenge that proves to be more captivating than his day-to-day duties, but Jacob blames Rook for it all anyway. 

So, in truth, it's a blessing in disguise when John calls him to, in his own words, discuss the “absolute state of it all”.

Flying relaxes him, it always does, especially flying over Hope County. The majesty of nature is barely marred with human presence here, forests largely untouched, water mostly clean. This is the kind of world he wants to preserve. Drive the sickness out of it before it's too late.

With the Collapse approaching, Jacob simply takes in the view while he still can.

From his position he can see John's plane approaching the landing strip, but not before taking its sweet time for unnecessary maneuvers and general fucking about. Ever the show-off, Jacob thinks, with a hint of judgmental impatience, but he still feels himself smile despite it. His own landing is smooth and precise. He doesn't let the spirit of competition John tends to inspire lead him into carelessness.

They embrace, with less restraint and more emotion than usual, the necessity to perform their roles gone thanks to the minimal amount of the Faithful around them. Jacob doesn't have the same patience for Joseph's flock as John. Their usefulness to the cause is where Jacob's interest in them starts and ends - they are already saved and trained, and thus require only minimal guidance, so he keeps up appearances for Joseph's sake, and does his best to ignore their unsettling worship.

It's absolutely beyond him how Faith _relishes_ in it.

Which, speaking of -

"Where's Faith?" He asks John as they get to walking towards the compound. He expected the youngest siblings to travel together, as he'd instructed them to.

"Faith is dealing with a little, hmm, cougar infestation," John informs him nonchalantly, "but you know her. She'll appear on her own if she deems it necessary."

"Joseph deemed it necessary for _all_ of us to be here."

"Sister dearest is doing _fine_ ," John looks into the distance, and there's a faint shadow of concern on his face. "It's the two of us Joe needs to talk to."

"We in trouble?"

John pushes his aviators away from his face and into perfectly styled hair.

"I think I'm doing _something_ wrong," he says after a pause, "and we don't know what _you're_ doing at all."

"You learning how to be as fucking cryptic as possible from Joe, little brother?" John shoves Jacob's shoulder at that, a last chance to misbehave, before Joseph's parental presence and mild look of disapproval keeps them in line.

John and Jacob have their own understanding, one that doesn't include Faith and Joseph, in that they don't find it necessary to avoid violence at all costs, in how they don't perceive it as reenacting their trauma, but as integrating it, instead. Just as there is an understanding between The Father and his Faith, one that Jacob and John have no place in, or the way the three younger siblings see the metaphysical aspect of Eden's Gate differently from him. Just like Jacob's own relationship with their adopted sister is something else entirely.

They are a family, tightly knit and therefore the dynamics are complex. But none of them are excluded, not ever.

The dinner with the Father is uneventful, suspiciously so, for Jacob's liking. He expects an interrogation about his efforts with the deputy, but Joseph avoids the subject so expertly it seems purposeful.

Instead, he focuses his attention on John, patient and without admonishment, a soft displeasure with John's methods and personal progress. Joseph treads carefully, not because of fear of John's somewhat explosive nature, but to exercise gentleness for their little brother. John, for all his power-high and cruelty, is still a child who had suffered so greatly and so unjustly.

A rough hand and a harsh word, especially from Joseph, especially now that he’d just begun to feel accepted and loved, would _break_ him.

By the end of the meal Jacob figures that this is exactly why Joseph insisted on him being here. Ever the teacher, providing him with a practical demonstration of the benefits of positive reinforcement.

Sometimes Jacob can swear that Joseph is, in truth, all seeing and all knowing. It's unsettling.

"Jacob," the Father addresses him, leaving John to stew and ponder on the lesson, "your project. You've not spoken of it to me yet. Is everything well?"

"Depends how you define that," Jacob meets his brother's eyes, bracing for disappointment. Instead, he finds calm and unwavering support, even if underscored with sorrow.

"You did not choose this, brother, I know it. Neither did I. Nor John. But the Lord giveth. We are to accept it, and cherish it, and hold it close, and not cast it aside, no matter how much easier that would be in the moment. Or else… He _taketh_."

"I can't do what you want me to if you don't tell me what it is." Jacob hears John make a sound on the other side of the table, something between a gasp and a strangled laugh. He finds it hard to relate to, that almost fearful reverence John and Faith have for Joseph. The Father is right about a lot of things, and he knows even more than he lets on, but he still has to be reminded that he is just a man. A man who needs to speak _fucking_ clearly.

"And here it is, just as I knew it would be. The burden of free will. _I_ cannot tell you what to do, Jacob. Have faith in the Lord and know in your heart that He wants only for you to be happy."

Oh no, they are _not_ having this conversation. Not now, especially not when John's face is alight with sheer unabashed _glee_ at the implication of it.

"If not for yourself, think about your family," Joseph continues, serene and unbothered, "would you doom John? Faith? Our Chosen? Would you doom me? All because you cannot or will not set your _pride_ aside."

"That a challenge?"

"It is not I who challenges you, Jacob," Joseph laughs, in that soft and understanding and somehow sad way of his, "Go, my brothers. It is time to see that the Lord's will be done."

Jacob fully intends to walk the entire way back to the strip in silence.

Tough luck.

John can contain himself for only as long as it takes for them to get out of earshot.

"So. Jacob. Pray tell," John's voice is syrupy-sweet, "what is it that would make you _happy_?"

Jacob knows that if he engages, he will inevitably regret it, so he doesn't.

"Aren't the Hope County deputies just _lovely_ this time of year?" John, the little shit that he is, doesn't even need a response. "Darling Joey Hudson is not my personal favorite, I have to say, not compared to the little treat you've gotten yourself." 

It's a shame, Jacob thinks, that he can't just smack John over the head anymore and have him run away crying like he used to.

"Oh please, don't tell me she doesn't spark at least some _joy_ in your day-to-day. I know I would be _delighted._ "

"I'm sure you would," Jacob snaps back, it's a moment of weakness, but now it can't be stopped, "I'm sure it would be a real _pleasure,_ what with how stubborn, stupid, and fucking _mouthy_ she is. Right up your damn alley."

There’s a blissful lull in the conversation, but he wisely doesn't let his guard down. There is no way John would let him walk away this easy. And sure enough, he does not.

"So… She _talks_ to you, does she?" Jacob gives John a stare, _the fuck is that supposed to mean,_ and John just _beams_ at him.

"Yeah. What kind of fucking question is that?"

"Oh, it’s nothing," John's voice oozes with mock-innocence and poorly contained amusement. "Half my people are placing bets as to whether or not she's actually mute, that's all."

Jacob does not think about what that means. He _will_ not.

"I'm just curious. What does deputy Rook have to say to you? Quite a lot, I'm thinking. Must have, considering you seem to be the only person she ever talks to."

"I'll make sure to pass on how heartbroken you are by it."

"You do that," John says, smoothly, peaceably even, as a farewell. "You do that, brother dear." Jacob doesn't like that tone one bit.

Just as he _really_ doesn't like to come home and be informed that every single one of his wolf beacons had been trashed to shit, that his potential recruits at the Grand View Hotel are gone, and that Whitetail Militia are now blasting their garbage music all over the damned mountains.

Reminded of his purpose, Jacob figures it's time for the deputy to be reminded of _hers_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Seeds are a happy and loving family, you CAN'T change my mind


	5. We Must Be Strong

 

 

The next time Rook succumbs to Jacob's hunters, it's all really her fault. She'd been busy making a neat pile of scrap metal out of Jacob's convoy helicopters, and yes, she did get a little carried away. Challenging herself to take out the pilots with one well-aimed shot of her beloved sniper rifle, and then watching the helicopters twirl and dance in the air before hitting the ground in a fantastic explosion proves to be way too fun. So fun, in fact, that she doesn't even realize what's happened before she wakes up in a cage.

Rook finds it to be quite a downgrade from that chair in the classroom, if she has to be honest. Sure, it's roomier and the air is considerably fresher, but it still is rather… undignified. Was it something she'd done? Was it all the helicopters? She wouldn't have thought Jacob had such an attachment to them, but she figures he’d be a sore loser.

Rook awaits the chance to call Jacob out on his bullshit with eager anticipation, but when he finally emerges in her field of view, Joseph is with him, and just like that, her interest is lost.

She doesn't much care for Joseph. Most of the time, she finds him incomprehensible and confusing, and that eerie intensity in his eyes when he stares at her makes her squirm. As if he expects her to _do_ something, and whatever it is she's doing right now is not it. He also has that tendency to just talk and talk and _talk,_ and Rook worries that the more she listens to him, the more sense he'll start making.

Rook finds she doesn't particularly like John, either – but not in the way the rest of the county seems to hate him, though. She just prefers not to engage at all. He has that vibe of a mean-spirited kid with too much power, and then he tends to look at her in a vaguely inappropriate manner, and she wants nothing to do with _that_ , thank you very much. Besides, he did try to drown her that one time. Far be it from her to carry a grudge, but it seemed somewhat uncalled for.

She hasn't met Faith just yet, and she’s in no hurry to. That whole innocent little sister act Faith's got going creeps the shit out her.

So, when it comes to the Seed family, deputy does what she always does with people she doesn't like: avoid if possible, if not - minimize the amount of exposure and find somebody else to deal with them.

Shame she can't apply that to the complete fucking idiots that call themselves the Whitetail Militia.

At first, Rook is grateful. They _did_ get her out of a corpse pit, in a manner of speaking, and she shakes their leader's hand with anticipation of productive future collaborations. It only takes a tour of the Wolf's Den for her to be severely disappointed.

That open hostility towards anyone who isn't _them_ is sure to win them a lot of friends, Rook thinks bitterly. Clearly a way to go, right there, make enemies of everyone around them, use methods that would humble John Seed himself, and then proudly declare themselves the heroes of the fucking story.

Rook fails to see how the Militia can, with a straight face and clear conscience, consider themselves to be the good guys. Most of them are just plain stupid, same as the Peggies, blindly following the wrong people, no matter which side they're on. But their so-called leaders, Eli and Tammy, fill Rook with rare contempt she reserves for unrepentant hypocrites.

Leading _teenagers_ to certain doom, sending the weak and the vulnerable to do his dirty work whilst hiding out in the cushy safety of the bunker, Eli, that fucking coward, isn't even the worst of the bunch. After witnessing Tammy's favorite recreational activity, her little _kiddie pool_ , deputy suppresses her urge to vomit. If things were a little different, Rook wouldn't even have hesitated before putting a bullet or two into both of them. But with Jacob Seed's presence looming all over the mountains, she does the barest minimum to get on the Militia's good side. If only to spare herself another front to fight on.

At least the Seeds have the decency to get personally involved in their pursuits. The Father attends to his flock personally, even the most wayward of them, Jacob actually makes sure that his people are fit to fight, and even John doesn't just hurt others for the sheer fun of it. Knowing in advance he'll get nothing of use out of them, he still doesn't fucking _torture_ people until they die.

Rook would almost feel sympathetic to their cause, if it weren't for Pratt's caged fidgeting and beaten up face.

Staci looks like absolute shit, she decides. Whoever was tasked with beating him into submission had really made a fine work of it. But even with his entire being permanently covered in a layer of crusted blood, knuckles scraped and swollen, Pratt still looks like he actually doesn't mind being here. That's so fucked up and _unnatural_ , that Joseph's tale of woe, otherwise potentially interesting, is demoted to background noise while Rook thinks of a plan.

Get Jacob’s key, save Pratt and others who are in the bunker against their will, without killing the eldest Seed if at all possible. Circumvent John and get Hudson out, and then outsource the rest of the evacuation efforts to those better equipped for the job. Maybe give Whitehorse a chance to get his last hoorah. Retire with a bang, so to speak.

Joseph seems to be done preaching, now, and he gives Jacob a pat on the shoulder. Compliments him for a job well done. Jacob is grateful, Rook notices, and there's a small smile on his lips as he watches The Father walk away.

Jacob Seed has been on Rook's mind a lot, lately. It unsettles her, at first, and she tries to will herself to _stop_ , but eventually she decides it takes more effort to _not_ think about him. He fascinates her, tough as it is to admit, and she envies his confidence and certainty. She doesn't mind his attention, too, now that she's gotten a taste for it. Rook can't quite put her finger on it, but the way he talks to her, the way he challenges and inspires her - it's like nothing she'd ever felt before. It's somewhat bittersweet that praise and acknowledgment in her life are scarce enough for her to latch on to whoever is willing to provide any at all.

She wonders if Eli and Tammy's expectation of her to just do shit for them and take it as a given has anything to do with it.

Jacob approaches her cage with that predatory grace of his and takes out the music box from his pocket. Rook recoils, instinctively, and he flashes her a toothy grin, satisfied with the reaction. What seems to be minutes pass by in silence, until with a slow, pointed gesture of good faith Jacob puts the damned thing aside and sits, cross-legged, in front of her.

"So, is that it then?" She challenges him, to delay the inevitable return to the red room, if nothing else. "You gonna come fetch me every time Joseph says so?"

"You're here because _I_ said so.”

"Whatever helps you sleep, big guy," she snorts, "we all know you're not really in charge here."

"What makes you think I _want_ to be in charge?" His question is honest, and that throws her off. "D'you imagine questioning my authority is gonna make me feel bad? It won't, so don't waste your breath. Not gonna see me volunteering for Joseph's position anytime soon."

"Ah yes, the position of murdering newborn babies and starting doomsday cults. Must be _tough_."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. But that's okay. You'll learn." Jacob exudes that calm certainty and patience, unflinching despite her accusations, her bitterness.

"And you're gonna teach me, is that right?"

"Mm. How's that sound?" His voice drops to a low rumble, and Rook feels a flush creeping in, unbidden and poorly-timed. She _really_ wishes he'd stop doing that.

"Are you convinced I'm _special_ now? I coulda sworn there'd be more to your famous _training_ than this," she shoots back at him. "All that buildup, wasted."

"That can be arranged."

"I'd rather not, honestly. Got this splitting headache ever since the last time, and it's only starting to go away now."

"You're talkative today," Jacob notes, tone a little too casual, too playful. "Any particular reason you chose me, of all people, as your _confidant_ , deputy?"

Rook wonders if that actually makes him uncomfortable. She then tries to think of the circumstances leading up to Jacob finding out about this, and yeah, that _is_ quite awkward, Rook concedes, for all parties involved.

"Who better? You make for an amazing listener, Seed." She presents it as a joke, and if he takes it as anything else, his face doesn't show it.

"You hurt John's feelings." It's an accusation, but there's genuine mirth in Jacob's voice, and when Rook gives out a surprised cackle, he graces her with a smile, one that reaches his eyes. It makes him look younger, less grim and gloomy, Rook catches herself thinking. He should do it more often.

"You broke Pratt's face, so I guess that makes us even," Rook says, deliberately ruining whatever _moment_ this could've been.

"Please. As if he needs _my_ help to do that."

"What the hell that's supposed to mean?"

"I'll let you ponder on that, deputy," Jacob tells her, getting up with a grunt, the conversation clearly coming to its natural conclusion, the music box back in his hands. "You'll have more than enough time for that after your training."

The fucking _asshole._


	6. When The Saints Go Tumbling Down

 

 

There's no time to waste, and the moment deputy passes out after her training, Jacob sees to it personally that she's carefully and swiftly relocated to the back of his humvee. He even cuffs her himself, making sure the restraints aren't too easy for her to get out of in case she comes to before they reach their destination.

It'd be so much quicker and easier to just fly there, but Joseph had _insisted_ they take armed convoy with them to ensure their safety, and so he does, against his better judgment, his knowledge, even his gut feeling.

As if he couldn't keep them safe in the air. It grates him, this patronizing stubbornness, but he just sighs with resignation and orders his men to move out. Joseph's gonna get an earful when they make it to the compound, Jacob promises that to himself, before giving his undivided attention to driving.

When a Whitetail ambush takes care of the first convoy car, Jacob isn't even surprised. For all Joseph's understanding of Divine Will and human psychology, when it comes to safely traversing a war-torn landscape, he is absolutely incompetent.

That's why he shouldn't interfere in Jacob's area of expertise, leave the matters of defense and security to him, as it's always been. That's why Jacob had been tasked with in the first place, because he fucking _knows better_.

Swerving off the road and into the forest to avoid driving into the crashed car and any potential proximity mines, Jacob spares a glance to the car that was supposed to provide cover from behind, right on time to see it go ablaze.

Just _peachy._

Sniper fire is the last thing he needs today, and yet here it is, right on fucking cue. Jacob doesn't have the time to figure out where it's coming from, the first priority right now being to keep himself and the deputy in one piece long enough to reach some semblance of safety. Which is becoming increasingly difficult, since the sniper isn't as incompetent as Jacob had hoped, and now he has to navigate the woods in a humvee with a flat tire.

At least they're not trying to outright destroy the vehicle, he thanks God for the small mercies, and can't help but wonder if the Militia would be as careful if they knew that Jacob Seed himself is in the driver's seat. Would the life of the deputy outweigh the death of one of the Heralds?

Probably not, if he knows Eli well enough, which he does, so he's not about to start expecting mercy where there is none.

 _They know_ , the realization flashes through Jacob's mind when the sniper's next attempt shatters the rear-view mirror.

If they're to have any shot at survival, they should ditch the car as soon as possible, and continue on foot, finding better cover in the denser forest. But the prospect of hauling deputy's unconscious body on his own, possibly for _miles_ , is just about as stupid, so Jacob braces for evasive maneuvers and presses on.

The issue resolves itself, if not entirely in his favor, when he swerves again, this time to avoid hitting a deer. The poor creature looks just as startled as he feels, and he's not about to run over an innocent animal, because Jacob may be many things, but he's not a fucking monster.

The sheer idiocy of that decision only occurs to him when the car is already flying off the cliff.

Minutes later, after a nausea-inducing tumbling down, Jacob finds himself miraculously unscathed. It takes some effort to get out of a car, even more so - to get the deputy uncuffed and a safe distance away from the crash site, given that she's still (or again) knocked out cold. But she is alive, and not much worse for wear. Considering her daily activities, she probably won't even notice those couple extra scrapes and bruises when she wakes up. Which is bound to happen sooner rather than later, and so it's high time for them to get moving.

Jacob knows his region like the back of his hand, and by the looks of it, the nearest safe haven seems to be his house.

Joseph's never approved of him living out here in the wilderness. In the beginning, he'd tried to get him to move to the compound with the rest of them, but Jacob had made it clear it's not up for discussion early on. Eventually, when John leaves for his own ranch too, following the trail blazed by his eldest, Joseph, even though not particularly overjoyed, says nothing.

Faith never manages to settle down on a permanent residence, and keeps Joseph company whenever her duties let her, appearing in and out of the compound without warning or notice. Jacob isn't quite sure exactly _how_ she does that, but he is grateful she finds the time. Joseph's presence can prove to be somewhat… overbearing, but Jacob doesn't want him to be alone, either.

Whether by sheer luck or Joseph's Divine intervention, the pursuit seems to have lost the trail. The air is filled with the lively ambiance of local bird population, and the rays of afternoon sun spilling through the branches spur Jacob back to action.

After a brief inspection, it's clear that the humvee has to be relieved of its duties. But in that, Jacob doesn't see a failed mission, instead, he sees an opportunity.

He shrugs off his jacket, wraps the deputy in it, and, after a second of deliberation, borrows her baseball cap for an improvised disguise. It's all far from ideal, not to mention, cold, but he isn't about to let his signature dress code and unmistakable red hair give them away. Jacob collects whatever gear of theirs had survived the impact, and, as a finishing touch, throws a grenade he'd looted off deputy's backpack into the unfortunate vehicle.

With any luck, and if he _really_ works at it, the Whitetails might actually believe they'd finally succeeded at offing him.

The deputy isn't as light as he'd hoped, and certainly in no position to cooperate, and Jacob briefly wonders whether dealing with her awake and alert would be worth sparing him the back pain.

Then he remembers her incessant prattling, all the jabs and remarks she clearly considers to be hilarious, and resigns to hauling her all the way home, if it means delaying the inevitable.

The dusk is falling over the mountains by the time they reach the small log cabin in the middle of nowhere. There are no roads leading up to it. There's no paved yard. It isn't impossible to find, but it is so nondescript and so far off the beaten path that no one really spares it a second glance. And that, Jacob finds, is nigh impenetrable protection in and of itself.

After depositing his cargo in what passes for living room and securing her to the nearest support beam, Jacob radios Faith.

As is to be expected, Faith is less than pleased.

"Jake, where _are_ you?! You were supposed to be here _hours_ ago!"

"Change of plans," he informs her, walking out onto the porch. He keeps his voice calm and quiet, and it seems to do the trick, because when his little sister speaks again, her voice is considerably less hysterical.

"Ah, yes, the ambush," how she has the way of knowing these things with absolute certainty escapes Jacob, but that's just how Faith works. "Still. The Father said you and your… ward were _expected._ She was to be baptized, properly this time, and John is here to see to her confession, before the two of you can proceed with the - "

"Not happening," he cuts her off. "There was a - an opportunity. I'll be laying low for a time. Whitetails may have a reason to think I've finally kicked it, and I don't wanna dissuade them of the notion just yet. I'm sure with your help we can keep their dream alive for a week or so."

"Wonderful." Faith says, and her tone is anything but. "Who will be overseeing your duties, brother?"

"Things are running smoothly enough. The Militia's gonna be quiet, planning their next move. Could take them ages. And if anything happens," he sighs, deeply, and rubs his temple before continuing, "call Pratt. He'll… handle it. Maybe."

Faith, bless her heart, actually _giggles_.

"Staci? How is he? Happy to serve?"

"Mm. In a manner of speaking."

"And your charge? You didn't _lose_ her in your hike through the woods, did you, Jacob?"

"No."

"Are you going to just keep her there, all for yourself?" There's a telling lilt in Faith's voice. John and his fucking gossip, Jacob thinks, and lets silence be his answer.

"Aww, that's a shame," Faith sighs on the other end, like a child that's been told that Christmas was postponed. "I was _so_ excited to meet her!"

"I'm sure. I'll keep you updated if anything changes," he concludes the conversation, before adding: "And tell Joseph this is the last fucking time I'm driving instead of flying. Over 'n out."

Jacob can clearly visualize the sour face his sister makes before turning off the radio.

Even after he gets the fire going, the chill of the house that's been empty for too long is still there. Jacob finds himself in no hurry to take his jacket back from the deputy.

If his luck keeps, there's still a couple of hours of peace and quiet ahead of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, here's the long overdue shoutout to greetz_dk, my wonderful boyfriend and beta reader! Love you, babe!


	7. Thrill Me Like You Do

 

Jacob's luck does _not_ keep for long, but he's ready for it when it happens.

The deputy wakes up slowly, blinking against the light from the fireplace, bleary-eyed and confused. Groaning, she rolls her shoulders, and tries to stretch her arms, and Jacob can recognize the exact moment the panic sets in. Her eyes snap open, scanning her immediate surroundings, her breathing picks up, though only momentarily, as she tries - and succeeds - to prevent herself from hyperventilating, to remain as quiet as possible. She wriggles her wrists, identifying the method of restraint.

Thirty seconds. Decent time, considering she'd been unconscious and most definitely has the worst headache of her life.

Jacob watches from his position atop the kitchen counter, just barely out of her field of view, as the deputy leans forward, angles her elbows upwards as much as her position allows her for, and jams her wrists against the beam while pulling them apart at the same time.

Thirty-four seconds. _Watch your time_ , he wants to tell her, almost out of sheer habit.

Her shoulders tense, tenser than the first time, deputy takes a deep breath and repeats the maneuver.

Thirty-six.

The zip tie snaps.

It takes her a fraction of a second to get back on her feet, and Jacob stops the timer with a click.

"Thirty-six seconds," he says, sliding off the counter, "not bad. We'll try the handcuffs next time."

The deputy makes an impressive cat-like leap backwards, her composure lost, and stumbles over onto the floor. She looks up at him as he steps closer, the look of a deer in the headlights on her face. Except not entirely, Jacob realizes. Startled, but not the least bit afraid. Which is… unwise, considering her vulnerable, unarmed position, considering he has every advantage if it ever came to hand-to-hand combat between the two of them, considering he'd been brainwashing her, torturing her, keeping her in a cage.

Brave kid. Brave, but ultimately, stupid.

"If this is your special treatment, Seed, it fucking _sucks_ ," the deputy croaks at him, and coughs. He extends her a hand, an offer for help and cooperation, but she scoffs at him and doesn't move from her position on the floor.

"Miss the cage that much?" Jacob quirks an eyebrow at her, still not withdrawing his hand. "There aren't any available. C'mon, dep, up and at 'em."

She eyes him, skeptically, before accepting his help and hoisting herself back to her feet. He notices her wrists, rubbed raw by the zip ties, and makes a mental note to show her a more efficient method of escape.

"No cages, huh? Did you manage to fill them all up, or…?" Deputy then takes a second to really take in her surroundings, and frowns. "Or was your lease with St. Francis discontinued? Yeah, I don't imagine you'd make for a good tenant, what with all that gore and the mess you got going there. Oh, and the prisoners. And the _dogs_."

_Wolves_ , Jacob doesn't correct her. She's probably setting up for some idiotic punchline, and he refuses to give her the satisfaction. He's grateful, if only for a second, for John's continued presence in his life, and the precious lessons of patience it has taught him.

"What is this place, anyway?" She asks, conversationally, looking around with vague curiosity, as if being kidnapped and waking up in strange places tied to support beams is the most natural part of her daily life. Which, for all he knows, it might be, but still… Her reaction to all of this makes Jacob thoroughly uncomfortable. She should be running by now. Or trying to kill him.

"It's my house," he tells her, and that seems to shut her up. He'd be an idiot to waste such an opportunity, so he debriefs her, whether she wants to listen or not: "Were transporting you to the compound, there was an ambush, car got all fucked up. S'all fine by me, can see to your training here just as well."

"What ambush?" Deputy asks, already checking out the rest of the cabin, reaching for the books on the shelves with her grubby fingers, it's fucking _invasive_ , and Jacob doesn't even register closing the distance between them. He gets a hold of himself before grabbing her hand, thank God, and settles for clenching a fist at his side. It's gonna be a _long_ couple of weeks.

"Your Militia buddies, who else."

Her reaction is unexpected, to say the least. She whips around, grimacing, and Jacob sees he'd struck a nerve. _Interesting_.

"They're not my fucking _buddies_ ," Deputy hisses, bitterly, fiercely. She sighs, steadying herself, and steps away from him and his _stuff_ , plopping onto the couch. "I need a drink."

"Sink's over there," he nods to her, Southern hospitality be damned.

"I said drink, not wash up."

"You lost, deputy? That's contraband you're asking for."

"Yeah yeah sure," she snorts, "and half the kids in Bible camp didn't get shitfaced for their first time that one summer."

"Not in _my_ fuckin' house."

"Wonderful." Deputy stretches out, and there's a certain finality in her action, as if she doesn't intend to get up anytime soon. Fine by him. Jacob finds a comforter for her and throws it in her general direction.

She shoots a questioning look at him.

"For sleeping, deputy. You're gonna need that. It gets cold." Like talking to a child, honestly.

"Where are you gonna sleep?"

_Unbelievable._

"In my bed." He tilts his head towards the loft. She doesn't reply, instead, she shrugs off his jacket and hands it to him. He takes it, carefully avoiding brushing her fingers.

Jacob is halfway to the stairs, when her voice reaches him.

"What if I need to pee?"

"Outhouse's in the back yard. Or do I gotta hold your hand?" He turns around, his patience wearing thin and his exhaustion setting in properly.

The deputy sits up, suddenly attentive and more alert than ever.

"So, you saying the door is _unlocked_?"

"Would that stop you?"

"Then what's keeping me from just, y'know, _leaving_?" She asks, but makes no move.

"Absolutely nothing." Jacob replies, and it's mostly true. _Mostly_. "But where is it you're in such a rush to get to, deputy? Holland Valley? John will be _delighted_ to have you back. And he will, believe me. Can't even set foot in Fall's End anymore. So it's either him or Faith, and something tells me you're not thrilled about either. Your Militia friends? Gone. Woulda killed you to get to me, probably think they have already. You're _nothing_ to them."

Deputy remains silent, just staring at him with those huge grey eyes of hers, and Jacob thinks he can recognize that loss, that loneliness.

"Out there," he tilts his head at the window, "you're alone. And you're _weak_. A wolf without a pack. We're not your enemy, deputy. With us, you can be strong. And I can give you _purpose_."

"Just like you've given Pratt purpose, huh? Seems to be working out _real_ well for him."

"Not this shit again," he mutters under his breath, and then, to her: "Why don't you two have a little heart to heart sometime, if you're so concerned. Might learn something."

 She says nothing.

"Thought so. Go to sleep, deputy. 'S been a long day."

"So, what, you actually _trust_ me to not kill you in your sleep and fuck off?"

Jacob gives her a long, examining look. For someone who's in the middle of wrapping herself in the comforter, the deputy looks oddly defiant, and he finds it inexplicably charming. Endearing, even.

_What the hell_.

"Yeah," he says at length, "let's try that."

This time, Jacob manages to get to the top of the stairs before she speaks again.

"Where's my backpack?"

"Nice try," he tells her, and can't help a smile.

 


	8. Recruitment Efforts

 

The following afternoon Jacob is caught by the deputy in a rather undignified act of rifling through her meager possessions.

He doesn't feel bad about it, necessarily. He's doing what needs to be done, deciding which of her things are safe to return to her, and what he should hold on to for the time being.

There aren't many personal items in her backpack, Jacob notices, almost nothing to distinguish this bag from all the rest that are just strewn around all over the county. It's even the same murky yellow. Putting the standard assortment of explosives, dried-up leaves of questionably beneficial plants, and fishing equipment aside, on the very bottom of the bag Jacob finds an old, worn and torn pocket King James' Bible. On the front page he can barely decipher an inscription, a dedication in a foreign language, and a date: 1992. Most likely a gift from her family on her baptism, an heirloom passed down through generations.

Which would make the deputy twenty-six years old.

And him, old enough to be her father _. Jesus._ He'd been out there fighting a fucking _war_ before she learned how to _walk_.

Jacob places the Bible on the desk, a curious insight into deputy's life, and a bitter reminder about his own.

The last remaining item in her backpack is a Bureau-issued 1911-A1, clearly no longer in a working condition, but bearing signs of heavy use and loving care in its past. Jacob raises it closer to the light for further inspection, looking for engravings or any other clues about the deputy's time with the FBI.

"Unhand the service weapon, Seed." Her voice, calm and steady, with a faint underscore of a _threat_ reaches him from behind. He curses himself for being careless and distracted. He should've heard her approach.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," he obliges, equal parts surprised and intrigued, placing it carefully into the cleared-for-return pile, and turns to her, empty hands raised as a sign of compliance.

She gives him a flat stare, one Jacob is familiar with. Despite her lighthearted, peaceful nature and an annoying habit of not taking anything seriously, former Federal Agent, Hostage Retrieval Team operative Rook exudes steadfast authority with remarkable ease. Eyes trained on him, she extends her hand, palm up, and quirks an eyebrow.

"Now pass it over, nice and slow."

Fascinated by the sheer _nerve_ , Jacob follows the order, and watches her give the weapon a cursory assessing look before placing it in her hip holster. Waste of a perfectly valuable holster, by Jacob's standards, but the gun clearly carries some kind of sentimental value, and he isn't going to take that away from her. Not until it becomes a hindrance.

"The book, too," she commands, in the same tone, but Jacob feels the charm of her newfound confidence to be wearing off. When he doesn't budge, there's a twitch in her face. Aggression. Concealed well, perhaps, but obvious to him.

"Down, girl," he drawls, slowly, enjoying every syllable. Judging by her expression, it's amazing she doesn't _growl_ at him. It must take some effort, too, because the deputy doesn't even have any witty remarks prepared for that.

"I don't mean metaphorically, deputy. _Down_." He nods towards the stairs. "You're in my room."

"And you're elbow-deep in my stuff."

"And _you're_ in my house. I'll decide which stuff is yours and which isn't."

The deputy balks at him. Then, reluctantly, turns around.

"Jesus, Seed, thank _fuck_ you don't have children. That's some shitty ass parenting techniques, right there," she informs him, retreating downstairs to a safe distance. Deciding not to indulge her, Jacob locks anything of hers that can be used to cause harm up in his drawer, collects the rest, and follows her.

"Didn't peg you for a believer," he notes, placing the Bible on the coffee table she'd clearly appropriated as a nightstand.

"Was raised to be," deputy shrugs, "want to be again."

She doesn't elaborate.

"Joseph's gonna like that. Saves us a whole lotta trouble."

"Not _that_ kind of a believer, Seed." There's an emotion on her face Jacob can't quite place. Disgust, perhaps, at the association, but not nearly as strong as being compared to the Whitetails.

"Doesn't matter," he tells her, absently. She's proving to be… promising. Full of potential. She's skilled, and smart, and _adaptable_. Dangerous, when she wants to be, and pacifyingly helpless when it suits her.

She will be perfect for her purpose. Not just the whole Militia business, but the greater goal he'd discussed with Joseph, the one that they were supposed to start working towards at the compound. And not just _that_ , Jacob thinks, blood running feverishly hot in his veins, high with excitement, with anticipation, with _hope_. Maybe -

 _No._ That's what happens when he lets John get into his head. It's all subtle hints and innocent jokes, but John knows exactly what he's doing. Planting fucking _doubt_ in his mind, and Jacob had let him, because he engaged, and of course, now he regrets it.

And still. Maybe.

Jacob wills himself to take a deep breath.

"Have you eaten?" He asks the deputy, who'd been blissfully quiet for an unsettling amount of time.

"Yup."

"Good," Jacob nods. "Expect you to be ready in five."

"What for?" Her question reaches him as he's packing his equipment.

"Your _training_ , deputy."

He turns around, because he knows it's gonna be a whole fucking ordeal with her now, and of course, it is. She stands in the middle of the living room, leaning against the support beam she'd freed herself from the other day, arms crossed.

"I don't think so," she declares lightly, almost playfully, but her face tells a different story. She will not budge an inch before she gets her way, whatever it might be this time.

"Beg your pardon?" Jacob raises an eyebrow at her, his tone pointedly free of begging.

"I said, I don't think so. None of that for me. Not until I know _why_."

"What is it exactly you mean by _why_?"

"I mean, it's clear what you've been doing until now. It's clear what the whole red room ordeal is for, and that musical number of yours. But this," deputy gestures around herself, undefined, "what is all of _this_ for?"

Jacob pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly, channeling Joseph's patience, remembering what his brother had told him.

_An equal, Jacob. Treat her as you would like to be treated._

"I need a second-in-command," he says after a long internal deliberation. "A deputy, if you will."

The insufferable idiot that she is, the deputy _laughs_. Jacob can't decide if it's the word play that does it, or his plan for her - most likely the latter - but she laughs for a _while_.

"I'm honored," she chokes out in between the gasps, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline."

Yeah. That's what he'd though.

"Not really up to you," he snorts, "you already are, all but in name and training."

"What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?!" Her voice carries a shrillness he hasn't heard from her before, earlier mirth all but forgotten. Her eyes dart towards the door.

"You'll find that out soon enough." Jacob meets her eyes, daring her to leave, to see what happens if she does. She takes a step. "We've been through this, dep. You know what's good for ya."

There's a hesitation in the way the deputy takes a second step, her eyes never leaving his, and Jacob has to remind himself to breathe, because the realization that he doesn't _want_ her to go comes crashing down on him, unbidden, paralyzing, horrifying.

"I'm giving you your purpose," he tries again. "Don't cast it aside." _Please,_ he doesn't add.

After what feels like hours, her shoulders relax, and she nods to herself, as if coming to a decision.

"Since you ask so nicely," she says casually, and gets to lacing up her hiking shoes.

She's ready to go in less than five.

After that, they settle into a routine so easily it feels like second nature. It's like training his Chosen, Jacob thinks, the first of them, before Eden's Gate was what it is now. Armed with patience and encouragement, he watches her become what she was meant to be. Slowly and with care, he lets her in on how his region operates, leaving just enough gaps she can't give the Militia anything of actual use, not until he trusts her.

Sometimes, in the evenings, they talk, and it’s strangely entertaining in its own way, to the point he doesn't mind it for the most part. The deputy doesn't seem to mind doing most of the talking herself, she doesn't try to get him to spill his heart out for her, doesn't try and _twist_ what little he shares and use it against him.

Her presence is both exhilarating and comforting, and Jacob is bracing for the day she inevitably decides to leave.

When she does, she's not gone for long.

 

 


	9. Set Those Sinners Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music: I'm Not Calling You A Liar by Florence + The Machine

 

After the world swirls and pulses in red and black around her for the sixth time, an invisible hand shoving her further away from freedom once again, Rook accepts defeat.

She's lying on a thick layer of pine needles, forest stretching beyond and above her, treetops vanishing into pitch-black, starless sky. Usual ambiance of the woods at night resumes around her, unaffected by her frantic efforts. Local bird and deer population appears to be used to the song, too. That damned song. _Only You_ , it swears to her, but its very existence in this neck of the woods is telling that she's far from the only one to have been held prisoner on Jacob Seed's property.

Worst part of it all, Rook thinks, slowly freezing into the ground, is that she doesn't even feel like a prisoner.

She'd stayed because she _wanted_ to, not because he intimidated or rationalized her into it. She probably wouldn't even have gone through with her escape, if she has to be honest with herself. She wanted to see how far it would stretch, this newfound trust of theirs.

Apparently, there isn't any to be stretched, and never had been to begin with.

Coulda fooled her.

A lot of things seem fool her these days, and Rook is bitter. The banter. The acceptance. The distinct lack of messed-up shit perpetrated against her lately. This secluded fucking cabin and this special fucking treatment. Hell, he hadn't even asked her about the Militia, or Resistance in general, and she just took it in stride, didn't even notice.

The perfect long game, one so transparent and obvious it doesn't appear like one at all.

Jacob had lied to her. Hardly surprising, in the grand scheme of things. But somehow it's not the brainwashing, not the music box and the implications of it, not even the insurmountable amount of other awful shit he'd done that hurts her the most.

Rook contemplates just staying right here, on the ice cold forest floor, and freezing to death out of sheer spite.

He clearly wants her alive, for whatever reason, whatever purpose she's supposed to serve. It all has to amount to something, the shit he's pulling on her, so what better way to fuck with his plans, _permanently_ , than this?

Maybe Jacob is right after all, and she _is_ weak, because a part of her wishes he'd just get it over with and let her die.

Another part of her, the one that includes her physical body, is weak, too, because she peels herself off the ground and trudges back to the cabin, legs shaky from cold and exhaustion.

Her entire being is _weak_ , Rook concludes, defeated, because there's no resisting that pull, that _longing_ which brings her back to him.

Her trip back is made easier by the light seeping through the windows, inviting and warm, a stark contrast to how she left it, and she knows he is waiting for her.

"You _lied_ ," she hisses, barging in through the door, shaking leaves and pine needles out of her hair, and stopping dead in her tracks at the view in front of her.

Jacob is sprawled on the floor, warming his feet against the fireplace, eyes closed, head resting against the side of the couch. The sight Rook would describe as _domestic_ , under any other circumstances. But then he opens his eyes at the sound of her voice, and the quiet agility with which he springs up reminds her that this is not the time to be captivated by the way light catches in his red hair.

She makes straight for him, and socks him square in the chest, _hard._

Or, at least, tries to, because her wrist is caught in a vice-like grip a split second before connecting. Jacob slowly draws her arm away, only letting go when her still clenched fist is pressed tightly against her side. Blue eyes trained on hers, cold, calculating, _dangerous_ , he tilts his head ever so slightly. _Try harder,_ a wordless challenge, one Rook is well-acquainted with.

When she doesn't rise up to it, Jacob resumes his prior activity as if nothing of note had just occurred. Fighting spirit is knocked right out of her, and Rook forcefully plants herself next to him on the floor. Furious or not, she's still fucking freezing.

Her shoulder brushes against his as she sits, and Rook feels Jacob flinch. He doesn't move away, despite the clear discomfort at the touch. It's as if he has something to prove, and spitefully, Rook doesn't move either.

"I said you were free to go," Jacob tells her when she stops shivering, "didn't say you wouldn't come back to me."

 _To me_ , he says, and she can physically feel the low reverberation of his voice course through her body. Rook cranes her neck to look at him. His expression is unreadable, eyes back to shut.

"Twist it as you like, that's still lying."

"'S not. You can ask John about that, some time," Jacob suggests, unmoved. "I'm sure he'd be _overjoyed_ to give you a crash course in corporate law."

"John's the one who taught you to lie? I'm pretty sure that's a _sin_ , Seed."

He snorts at that.

"One more, one less. Don't make a lick of difference."

"Can't believe Joseph hasn't explained to you what happens to the sinful," Rook isn't entirely joking, and when Jacob says nothing, she feels the need to prod further: "You don't think you can still work your way back into Lord's good graces?"

"Doesn't matter what I think."

"What do you mean, it _doesn't matter_? Do you just hope to get into Heaven by proxy? Or that Joseph will drag you in by the beard?" He looks down at her, corners of his eyes creasing with some sort of bitter amusement. "It doesn't work like that."

"Can't scare me with what I don't believe in, deputy."

"Non-believers by the path indeed," Rook mutters. "If you’re purging the heretics… shoulda taken yourself out first and foremost, _brother Jacob_."

Jacob barks out a laugh. It's a distant, hollow sound.

"Trust me, I've tried."

Yeah, okay, that is decidedly not what she expected. Rook looks back up at him, but he's staring off into the middle distance, and she can't quite tell how he feels about this conversation. He doesn't _look_ upset, but it also doesn't look like he's feeling much of anything at the moment.

"Fuck, Seed, I'm sorry," is all she can say.

"It's okay. You didn't know." Jacob's tone is mild, forgiving.

"D'you still think about it?" The question leaves her mouth before she manages to decide if it's appropriate. They might not be openly hostile towards each other at the moment, but she's pretty sure that's not a boundary she's in a position to cross just yet.

She doesn't expect a response, but he gives her one anyway.

"Sometimes, yeah," he nods, absently. "But my heart's not in it like it used to be."

Rook can't help herself: she reaches out for his hand - stupid, _stupid_ idea - and squeezes it, gently. But it's not her own action that really surprises her, though. It's the way Jacob doesn't shake her off, how he turns his own hand, palm upwards, and squeezes hers back.

For the longest of time, they just sit there. A comfortable silence hangs between them, interrupted only by crackling of the fire, and another stupid decision later, her head is resting on his shoulder. Predictably, Jacob tenses, and Rook is sure she's _really_ pushing her luck now, but after a shuddering breath, he shifts lower on the floor so she doesn't have to crane her neck, and she feels his beard tickle her hair.

It's not just fighting spirit that's knocked out of her. The bitter hurt from her failed escape is dissipating, and she wants to hate him for it.

He doesn't let go of her hand even as she gets up to leave, to get away from him, from _this_. She doesn't expect it, and is pulled slightly back from her trajectory. Rook looks at their joined hands, and then at him.

 _Stay_ , his eyes say, but his lips don’t. She tilts her head, opens her mouth to speak, and hesitates just a split second too long, because Jacob's expression is back to guarded, an impenetrable wall of projected indifference.

His movement less swift and graceful than before, Jacob joins her on his feet. A moment later, he lets go of her hand, and it's clear she is dismissed.


	10. Oh, The Bliss

 

 

The night of deputy's attempted escape doesn't quite go according to plan. Jacob is ready for her wrath, he is prepared to put her back in her place by force, if necessary, to tear out any resistance left in her.

He's awake long before she leaves the house, and when the door closes behind her, he makes it downstairs and settles in for a wait. She takes her sweet time, too, throwing herself against the invisible walls he'd put in place long before she'd even landed in this county. Same principle as St. Francis, useful both in keeping outsiders away and preventing soldiers from deserting. Jacob can't hear the music from here, but he can tell when it stops - the natural order of the woods around the cabin restores itself almost immediately, and the bird songs are no longer interrupted. The deputy must've realized the futility of her efforts.

He braces for impact, inwardly, keeping his composure still for her sake - to further goad her into attack that should be coming any moment now.

Jacob swallows down the concern that creeps in when minutes pass by and it still doesn't.

He is _not_ prepared for what actually happens. Hell, he's not ready for _her_ at all.

She disarms him, this small frozen creature, with her openness and _acceptance_ , and her unrelenting gentleness, and her _touch_. He is ready to sink his teeth into her - whatever it takes to make her _stay_ , but she does that on her own volition, unbidden, she creeps closer, and Jacob is fucking _powerless_.

He wants to hate her for it.

The deputy doesn't make a habit out of invading his personal space after that night, but she doesn't cease entirely either, and Jacob has to work _hard_ to not let it have too much power over him. It's a tight rope to walk, between the visceral aversion to _any_ kind of physical contact and the equally all-consuming yearning for _hers_.

As if on cue, a light hand on his shoulder sends him reeling, thrown back into reality of the living room, where the deputy demands his attention.

She's brought back his military jacket, one she's been consistently borrowing every night after her little excursion, every time she goes to check and set the traps in the woods before retiring for the night.

"Fuck did you do to the flag?" Jacob follows her glance to the patch on his sleeve _._ "That's bordering on treason, soldier."

He raises an eyebrow at her, unimpressed.

" _This_ does it, huh?"

She ignores him.

"I'm just picturing the mighty warrior Jacob fuckin' Seed, tough as nails, doing needlework by the candlelight on cold winter nights. Such delicate work, too. Impressive, what with how damn farsighted you are."

"I do wear glasses sometimes," Jacob supplies, helpfully. The face she makes at that is nothing short of _precious._ The distinct lack of annoyance he's showing at her open mockery seems to be disappointing her, and he delights in it. "But embroidery is Faith's thing."

The deputy makes a grimace she always does whenever he mentions Faith. It intrigues him. They talk about John, and she is receptive, if mildly repulsed, and when they talk about Joseph, she shows a healthy amount of discomfort and near _reverence_. But the deputy avoids the subject of Faith whenever possible, and just the name alone is enough to elicit disgust and pure, unbridled _fear_.

"You judge her, and yet you haven't even met her. Faith's nothing like what you've been told." Jacob says, not for the first time, but deputy must be feeling chatty today, because she actually responds.

"You have no idea what I imagine her to be," Jacob nods at her, encouraging her to continue. "She's an unfortunate, unlucky, easily misguided _child_ with a drug problem that you all collectively took advantage of. She's an addict. A drug addict who goes out of her way to push her own misery onto others, instead of getting fucking _help_."

It sounds as if this had been bothering her for a while. Jacob had no idea Faith's well-being was concerning her so much. Touching.

"You should meet her, deputy," he tells her, peacefully. "Don't think you'd like her, but she'd _love_ you."

"How's that?"

Jacob takes a page out of the deputy's book and ignores the question.

"Do you know what Bliss is actually made of?" He asks her, instead, heading towards the kitchen. The deputy follows him like a lost puppy.

He feels her intense stare as he pours a glass of water and proceeds to rummage through the shelves.

"Water, a little bit of those moon flowers, and sugar."

The deputy says nothing even as Jacob stirs the mixture, but her glare speaks for her.

"Don't recall how much goes in there, so gonna go by feeling. That'll do it. Now this," he points at two small vials he'd extracted from the back of the shelf, "is food dye. Green 'n blue. Makes teal. A tiny drop of each, and you're good to go. You'd need much more for a whole barrel of Bliss, but you get the point."

Jacob extends the glass towards her. Her facial expression is a mix of confusion and disbelief. She shakes her head.

"Can even bless it for you, if you'd like. You just gotta have _faith_." He purrs at her, taunting, challenging.

"I'm good, thanks," deputy manages to squeeze out. Jacob snorts.

"Suit yourself," he says, taking a sip and placing the glass back on the counter immediately. "Too much sugar. Fuckin' knew it. Gotta ask Faith herself next time."

This little show and tell over with, Jacob clears his throat and leans back against the counter, fixing a stern look on the deputy.

"Now. Just so we're clear. Without _faith_ , Bliss does jack fuckin' shit. Faith is not a junkie. She's been clean for _years_ and I'm damn proud of her. She is my sister. She's my fuckin' _family_." His eyes narrow, voice drops lower. "Don't talk shit about Faith, when you don't know _shit_ about her. Understood?"

The deputy bristles but thinks better of arguing. Instead, she reaches out to wipe away a streak of blue dye off his face, the imprint of her fingers searing hot, and _yeah_ , this conversation is fucking _over._

"But what about all the Angels though?" Jacob is immediately pulled from his thoughts by his ever so special deputy, who apparently had hounded him almost all the way upstairs.

"What 'bout 'em?" He grunts, turning around and looking down to face her. Goddammit, she's so fucking _tiny._

"Why are they… like that?"

"Too much of a good thing, deputy. Applies to _faith_ , too."

"Are you seriously telling me that all this time - all this awful fucking shit - it worked because of _faith_?"

 "Yup. Why'd you think we aren't selling this shit and making a killing off of it? Take Faith away from it, and it's fuckin' useless. You have faith it's gonna fuck you up, so it does. Everybody always warns you about it, and it does what you expect it to."

Deputy's brows knit together, she contemplates his words for a moment.

"Faith as in belief or Faith as in actual person?"

"Aren't those two the same thing, when you really think about it, deputy?" Jacob is beginning to understand the appeal of being cryptic and vague. He can see why Joseph, Faith, and now even John do it. It's _fun._

"Wow, that really clears that up, thank you for your infinite fucking wisdom."

"Glad I could help. We done here?"

Of course, she ignores him.

"And the Judges?"

"I _train_ them. Personally."

"And those animals that everyone keeps talking about? The _moose,_ Jacob?! Did you train that one too?!"

At first, his heart seems to skip a beat. Then, the rest of her words catch up with him, and he laughs. He laughs until she leaves him alone on the top of the stairs.

This woman, he swears to God, somehow warps him into something entirely different from his usual self. Jacob's fairly certain that even Joseph hadn't managed to coerce him into speaking this many consecutive sentences when he was writing that book of his. It's almost like he _wants_ to have these normal _, stupid_ fucking conversations with her.

He can still hardly picture any of it working out according to Joseph's _\- God's -_ plan, but it's becoming harder and harder to deny that the deputy is fucking _special_. The way she talks to him - just the fact that she talks to him at all. The way she looks at him - without hatred or anger, and how she seems to not fear him a damn bit. He notices her looking at him sometimes when she thinks he's not watching, inquisitive gaze examining his scars, his face, his body, and there's no disgust in her eyes, either.

There's no repulsion on her face as she touches him, even his scars and rashes - instead, Jacob finds curiosity, fascination, _care_.

And on those rare occasions when he returns the contact -

Arousal.

Fuck. He needs to talk to Faith. Or John. Or both.

Separately.

The sound of her calm breathing reaches Jacob's acutely trained ears all the way from downstairs. The deputy is asleep, and that's fine by him, because he can't stop thinking about the way his name sounded coming from her lips. 

In his own bed, Jacob lets himself be carried away, a rare moment of weakness. He imagines her coming to him, and staying by his side, of her own volition - and then he pictures her right here, with him. He closes his eyes and dreams about _taking_ her - and her giving herself to him, willingly, enthusiastically. He'd kiss her shoulder afterwards, he thinks, feverish, he'd hold and protect and _love_ her. If she'd want him to.

His own imaginary, hypothetical gentleness feels alien, bitter, _painful._ But the pressure at the base of his abdomen is building up, relentless and unstoppable, and when he comes, he comes with a curse, and not her name.

 _Fuck_.

Jacob makes a mental note to fly to the Henbane as soon as possible.

 


	11. The Long Game

The morning after the practical lecture on Bliss and its preparation Jacob asks Rook’s name, and she spends the entire day trying to figure out what that means.

She’s been wondering why he hasn't yet, and in anticipation, thought of at least twenty-three different ways of dodging the question, varying from covertly hostile to overtly suggestive. But when he asks her over breakfast, he does it so suddenly and in reference to _nothing_ they'd been talking about previously, that every single threat, joke, and innuendo are knocked right out of her.

The question sends Rook into a very eloquent and dignified silence.

Jacob doesn't pounce at the opportunity now that he's caught her off-guard and it's unsettling, the way he doesn't press the issue, how he doesn't simply _command_ her to answer. He just makes a non-committal hum and carries on with the usual morning routine of checking his equipment. It's so bizarre that Rook settles in to drink her tea and _stare_ at him, hoping something in his demeanor will point her towards what the hell has happened to the uncompromising, calculating, unbending Jacob she's gotten to know.

She doesn't see anything _new_ , necessarily, but it's a good enough pretense to let her eyes wander, so she takes it.

"See something you like, deputy?" Jacob diverts his attention from his rifle. His tone is relaxed, but there's still an edge to it, a guarded warning.

Rook's mouth goes dry.

"Yeah," she whispers, and the adrenaline rush almost drowns out Jacob's derisive snort. His lips curl into a sneer, but instead of openly mocking, he settles for raising an eyebrow at her. He keeps her pinned by his stare for a brief moment before turning away, and it's all so fucking _condescending_ that Rook completely forgets to pity him for his apparent low self-esteem.

Either this whole preferential treatment is about to come to a very abrupt end and she's gonna wake up in that damned cage tomorrow, or Jacob has completely lost the plot, because after the dishes are done, he walks back into the living room and starts setting up a chess board.

It ends up being a very, _very_ long day.

Rook loses every single one of the games, even the ones she's dead certain were in her pocket. She can definitely see the point of the exercise by the time darkness falls around the cabin. She has a lot to learn about strategy and thinking ahead, something Jacob never misses an opportunity to point out, in that ever-patient way of his, never disappointed and reluctantly encouraging.

When he gets up to start the fire going, Rook takes it as a chance to put the game away, out of her sight. Jacob is crouching by the fireplace when she sways on her toes trying to reach the correct shelf. She yelps, and before she even realizes what's going on, her impending fall to the ground is halted by a pair of steadying hands on her shoulders.

Jacob stares her down as he takes the box from her hands and places it where it's supposed to be. The way he winces and rubs his shoulder afterwards catches her attention, and she notices edges of a mean bruise creeping from under the collar of his shirt. It's yellowing already, but it still must ache like a bitch.

"Too proud to wear a fucking shoulder guard?"

"Didn't think it was necessary," he grumbles, "'s nothing."

"Don't be an idiot," Rook chastises him, earning herself an incredulous glare. She doesn't let it deter her. "Take off your shirt."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me."

"Not fuckin' happening." His frame stiffens visibly, voice sharp, dangerous.

Rook reaches out for his shoulder, and his eyes follows her hand. He flinches, but barely, and lets her continue.

" _Jacob_ ," she says, and he meets her gaze, pupils blown out. "It'll be much easier if you sit down."

Carefully, he settles on the floor by the fireplace, turning his back towards her. He doesn't take off his shirt. Rook sits beside him, and rubs slow, gentle circles, undoing the knots of tense muscles and easing the blood circulation around the bruise through the fabric of his shirt, until Jacob shakes her off.

He leans back against the couch, their position reminding Rook of the night of her unfortunate escape. She figures she has to give something back in return for his trust, and she has just the thing.

"It's Ieva," she tells him, and, when he shoots a questioning look at her, clarifies, "my name."

Jacob tries it out a couple of times, mangling the foreign pronunciation hopelessly, and with a laugh, she allows him to settle for Eva.

"Figures," he snorts, smiling, and ignores her inquisitive look, examining her through half-closed eyes instead. The expression on his face suggests he's trying to come to some kind of decision, and _fuck_ , Rook wants to make that decision _for_ him.

Kissing him is probably not the decision she should be making, but she does it before she manages to even catch the thought. Instead of thinking, she just _does_.

Her arm sneaks around his neck, height difference rendered to irrelevancy due to their position, and pulls him closer. Jacob doesn't resist - she's quick and he's caught off-guard - and she sees him instinctively close his eyes a split second before she closes her own. Before she presses her lips into his.

She counts her heartbeats, like she'd learned during her training. It is useless to keep the time by, though, as her heart is beating so rapidly and loudly it rings in her ears, pulses in her head, but she doesn't let go, because Jacob's lips are warm and just a little rough, and that little shaky breath he sucks in before kissing her back is nothing short of _electrifying._

Rook can't help a whimper when he opens his mouth to her, yielding, inviting. She rakes her fingers through the long mess of his hair, pulling, bringing them closer, and the sound _he_ makes at that is something she swears she's _never_ going to forget. He nips at her lower lip, and Rook decides she needs to get even _closer,_ breathe him in, so she grabs a fistful of his shirt collar, her hand tangling in his keychain, and -

And then Jacob is suddenly hovering over her, free of her grasp - he's just as quick as her and she's distracted - and his scarred arms are firmly planted on either side of her shoulders. She's trapped, and when she looks up at him, she finally understands why the vast majority of people are fucking terrified of Jacob Seed.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, deputy?" The words come out hoarse and thick, quiet and ever more intimidating because of it. Cold blue eyes pierce into hers, his breathing almost back to normal, and he appears perfectly calm and collected. But his arm muscles are strained, much more so than the task of keeping himself upright requires, his jaw is tense, and Rook realizes it must take him an unthinkable amount of effort not to…

To what? Kiss her again? Finally put her out of her misery?

He does neither. Just holds her in place, staring her down with indecipherable intensity.

"Answer the question."

She squirms, but he doesn't, he doesn't move a muscle, and she's too paralyzed by his gaze and by her own damn stupidity to try to push him away. Not that she could, really. Rook's never been a close-quarters kind of fighter.

"Let me go," she breathes out, and hates how pathetic she sounds. Jacob sneers, as if smelling the weakness on her, and shakes his head.

"Do you still think your little _game_ is fun, deputy? Pacify the enemy? Make 'em trusting? Soft? S'okay. I understand."

He shifts above her, getting more comfortable by the looks of it. Knees on either side of her, one hand pressing her shoulder into the floor, another - gripping hers, still tangled in his keychain.

"You must've thought it’d be so easy," he muses, almost lazily, "a pretty young thing like you. 'S why you headed straight to me. John's used to your kind, he'd see through you in a fuckin' heartbeat, and Faith… Faith scares the shit out of you, don't she? So here you are."

Jacob looks her over, and at this point Rook doesn't even want to pretend there's anything else than disgust in his eyes.

"Did you think I'd be _flattered_ , deputy? Old broken-ass motherfucker with a shitty fucking life, probably hasn't gotten laid in _years_ … Of course you did. Easy fuckin' prey. Thought you'd just play nice, spread your legs, lie back and think of England. Maybe even convinced yourself you'd _enjoy_ it." Rook can't help but flinch, and she knows Jacob notices it, just like he definitely notices her flush. His nostrils flare, like a fucking bloodhound, and his grip on her tightens. "Mm. Ain't that the truth. But then you got greedy. Impatient. Too _young_ to know how to play a real long game."

His eyes narrow dangerously. Rook can see the corner of his mouth twitch, as if he wants to keep talking, but is actively forcing himself not to. Just as suddenly, he gets up and lets her go, the very action full of resentment and disdain.

" _Try harder,_ " Jacob advises her, as if he actually wants her to.

He leaves her alone in the cabin. She stays up as long as she can, but she still doesn't hear when he comes back.


	12. Liability

 

 

Next morning Jacob wakes up at the crack of dawn. Gasping for air, he pulls the comforter off and bites his clenched fist to suppress a scream. He sits up, slowly, and reaches out to open the curtains.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The color of the sky indicates it's somewhere between 0430 and 0445. This is good. Almost four solid hours of sleep. He can work with that.

Breathe in, hold it, breathe out.

The sounds in his immediate vicinity are all accounted for. A thin branch scratching against the window. The last of the firewood still crackling in the furnace. Wind howling in the trees in the distance. Nobody calling his name.

Breathe in, hold it, breathe out, hold it, repeat.

The familiarity of his surroundings, the sounds, and the view from the window all point to the undeniable fact that he is home.

Jacob then allows himself to get up and fish out his canteen from underneath his clothes.

It's all instinctual, now, he barely even registers what he's doing, but it still keeps him grounded. He steps cautiously still, shaking off the remnants of the nightmare, and empties the canteen in one continuous gulp. It still takes enormous effort to not check his guns, reach for his knife, to keep himself from securing the perimeter by any means necessary. It's taken him _years_ to get this far. Not every incident is equally well-handled, but it's still progress.

He remembers how it used to worry Joseph and John when they'd all first gotten reunited. They'd rush in and flail about, not realizing they were only making it worse - not only in the moment, but also afterwards. Making it so much worse with their questions, with their concern, with their pity. Making him feel _weak._ Jacob doesn't resent them for it, just as he doesn't expect them to understand, and over the years they'd learned to mostly just leave him be. Joseph still asks, though, regularly, and Jacob tells him about it sometimes, and sometimes it even helps. John takes a different approach. His baby brother always has a distraction on the ready, some new exciting thing (whatever it happens to be, it's rarely something Joseph would approve of), and even if it's usually activities that interest primarily John, Jacob always takes him up on the offer, and he would never even dream of accusing him of indifference.

The most help comes from Faith, and at first it surprises him. She doesn't pester him with questions, she doesn't smother him with care, she just sits next to him on the porch one early morning, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, but carefully announcing her presence beforehand.

Faith listens intently to his ragged breathing, and when it calms down, she offers him a glass of water. She asks him if he wants to hear her story, and when Jacob grunts noncommittally, she tells him. She also tells him what helps her cope.

It takes trial and error to get his own ritual right, but at least now on a good day he can get a healthy amount of sleep. And at this point in time, that's enough.

It's also enough sitting around, Jacob decides, and starts getting ready for the long overdue trip down south. Faith's council is always appreciated, he'd learned over the years, even if she doesn't always tell him what he wants to hear. Especially in the cases where he knows he'll hate what she has to say, her council is _necessary._

Concealing the sound of his footsteps, Jacob heads downstairs, resolutely _not_ looking at the couch. He puts a lot of work into not looking at _her._

Not her. _It_. A problem.

Ancient man had such a simple way of solving problems, Jacob thinks. Flee it, kill it, or fuck it. Clear and easy. Elegant, even, in its simplicity.

Except, he can't flee from this one. Not that he makes it a habit to run away from his problems to begin with - he never had, and he is certainly not about to start now.

Without being aware of it, he is looking directly at her, still sound asleep, a tangled mess of limbs, sheets, and clothes.

Joseph would not approve of killing her. It's a natural desire to have, he tells himself. Kill her. But at this point he isn't so sure it would solve anything.

Despite the chaos the deputy has made out of the couch, her chest rises with each breath calmly, softly, peacefully. Cheeks flushed from sleep and warmth, lips slightly parted, and Jacob can't stop his gaze from drifting lower, to skin exposed by restless twisting and turning, to the curves of her body -

Jacob snaps his stare into a fixed point on the ceiling.

_Yeah._ He most definitely cannot fuck his problem away, either.

For the time being, he settles for removing it, getting it out of his sight. Jacob contacts Peaches over the radio, and the poor fucker sounds absolutely _ecstatic_. Terrified, but ecstatic. He's all _praise be to Joseph,_ and _I felt it in my heart you were still alive, sir,_ going on and on, and it's fucking _sad_.

Jacob realizes Faith hasn't told Peaches he didn't _actually_ die. She probably found it hilarious. And cathartic. A little repayment for making her worry.

It's still a relief to know that he doesn't have to hold hands with Pratt for him to be able to do his job. All the other… irregularities aside, Peaches is sufficiently competent. Whitetails, predictably, haven't pulled their thumbs out of their asses and moved from their bunker - _Wolf's Den, seriously, Eli?_ \- and without Rook to fuck shit up, a couple of outposts have been re-liberated and maintained. Jacob acknowledges a job well done and provides Peaches with further instructions: unmarked vehicle, secure restraints, no convoy, and make it quick. 

That taken care of, Jacob settles into his usual morning routine, even taking to whistling as he checks his weapons, to drown out the sound of the deputy's soft breathing. What with the blinding anger and betrayal of last night and this morning's less than pleasant awakening requiring his immediate attention, Jacob hopes Pratt arrives before she wakes up, so he doesn't have to deal with -

"Where you off to?"

\- with _this._

Her voice still groggy from sleep, her hair a mess and glowing white gold in the first rays of sunlight, oversized sleeping t-shirt leaving just enough for his imagination. Jacob makes the mistake of instinctively looking at her when she talks, and despite himself, commits what he sees to memory.

"Huntin'," he lies, and despite his best efforts, he still leans away in the chair when she sits down across him.

"Take me with you."

He doesn't even dignify that with a response.

"I know you're the lone wolf kind of guy," Rook presses, "but you do take your dogs with you. And two guns are even better than a man and his dog, eh?"

So, the deputy's game is to pretend nothing happened. Spare herself the embarrassment, the awkwardness.

Not on his fucking watch.

Jacob slowly, deliberately lifts his gaze from his rifle to her. Soft grey eyes meet his, and he doesn't recoil from the contact, painful as it is.

 "My _wolves_ don't talk. My wolves come back to me when called." He purposefully drops his voice to a low rumble, all but purring at her. "Would you _come_ when I call your name, deputy?"

Jacob takes some kind of bitter delight in the way his words make her jolt, in the way her cheeks get flushed and pupils dilate. _Play stupid games,_ he thinks, _win stupid prizes._

"Mm, I think you would," he drawls, egging her on, when she says nothing, "but I'm not gonna take that chance. Deputy Pratt will be arriving shortly to collect you and deliver you safely back to St. Francis. Special treatment seems to _spoil_ you, deputy."

He picks up his backpack and canteen and slings his rifle across his back. When he glances at her again, she looks… devastated? Heartbroken? Hurt? A part of him - a part he didn't even think _existed_ anymore - desperately wants to turn around and fucking _apologize_ , and make it better, and he forcefully has to remind himself that she _deserves_ this. She tried to lull him into a false sense of security. She tried to exploit his good will, already reluctantly given. She took advantage of his disposition towards her. She betrayed his trust. She betrayed _him_.

"You'll behave and won't try anything _naughty_ , understood?"

She meets him with defiant silence. There's rage threatening to spill out of her, to break her perfect little fucking facade of hurt _. Not that good an actress after all_ , Jacob concludes, and in a moment of weakness considers just strangling her right here and now, bare hands and all.

Instead, he closes the distance between them in one stride, relishing in knowing that he towers over her, makes her feel small. He leans in close, close enough to know she can feel his breath in her hair. He inhales her scent, trails his hands over her shoulders, savoring the shiver his touch elicits.

"I don't think Peaches will appreciate your misbehavior," he reminds her, a soft whisper. "Is that understood?"

When she nods, defeated, he takes a step back, and tries to get his heartbeat under control.

_Weak_ , he thinks, and he's not sure if he's referring to her, or to himself.

He decides to wait for Peaches outside. 


	13. Help Me, Faith

 

 

It takes Jacob the better part of the day to find his sister, and when he finally does, she's talking to a small congregation of Angels, invested and passionate, as if they can actually hear the words. He settles for watching her from a distance. Her choice of company makes him uncomfortable, even more so than the other Faithful. The way his sister smiles at them, attentive, the expression on her face almost _loving_ … It may very well be that she is, in fact, communicating with them, in her own way getting them to understand her, and Jacob wants no part of that.

The Angels must sense his presence in that unsettling way of theirs, because they grow tense, their nonsensical pious muttering ceases, and Faith turns her head, looking for the source of disturbance.

" _Brother!_ " Her voice carries across the fields, when her eyes find him. Just one word, full of pure, untarnished joy - at seeing _him_ , of all people. Jacob cannot comprehend her, or why she loves him like she does, but goddammit, he returns it with equal fierceness. She practically runs towards him through the flowers, arms outstretched for an embrace, but something in his face makes her halt. Her expression darkens, brows drawing together, and she doesn't put on her usual over-the-top show of affection.

"Fuckin' hell, Faith, been searching for you for _hours,_ " he grumbles at her, trying to wave the approaching Angels away.

Turning back to her following, his sister makes a gesture, too quick to catch, and whispers something to one of them. Jacob can't decipher what it is, or if it’s even _human_ , but it works. There's no recognition or even a spark of life in those eyes, but they do obey whatever command they were given.

"I'm sorry for that," Faith says, her eyes still on the retreating Angels, pensive. "It takes time, showing your estranged parents the Path. A good shepherd tends to even the most wayward of the sheep, I suppose..."

Jacob is trained well enough to suppress the shudder her words elicit. He's glad he didn't spare the Angels a second look. Seeing Faith's parents in them would be… well. He rather wouldn't.

He knows exactly what they did to deserve it - and they _do_ deserve it, no doubt about it - but the way Faith looks at them now makes Jacob's heart ache for her. He doesn't need to ask her if she ever regretted her decision. He just hates to see her anything other than happy.

"Didn't mean to interrupt," he says, because there's nothing else to say.

"There's nothing to interrupt." There's a smile on Faith's lips, but it never quite reaches her eyes.

She motions him to follow, and they wade into the flower fields. Jacob's vision still swims, flecks of bright light in his peripheral making it difficult to concentrate, but it's not as bad as it used to be. Spending enough time around Faith somehow tends to build immunity to her Bliss, over time, but he's still far from unaffected. The particulars of it are still thoroughly mystifying, and Jacob tries not to think too much on it, especially not when he's knee-deep in the flowers and an arm's length away from Faith.

His sister leads him to a small cottage, charming and very Faith-like, evidently her chosen place of residence for the time being. She deliberately throws the Bliss blossom she'd been twirling in her hands across her shoulder before crossing the threshold. A considerable distance away from the fields, her home contains none of the flowers either. Faith's presence alone is enough to keep the uninitiated in the permanent state of Bliss, and she doesn't want to make Jacob's visit unnecessarily unpleasant.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table and watches her rummage in the fridge, apparently, for refreshments. At least Joseph's teachings of hospitality weren't lost on her, Jacob notes, but his opinion on the matter changes when Faith sets a glass of sweet tea aside for herself and slides a beer bottle across the table towards him.

"Relax," there's a mischievous smile in her eyes, "it's okay. I won't tell if you won't."

Jacob gives her a _look_ , and she throws one back at him in return.

"You know what happens to _snitches_ , Jake," there's a play-pretend warning in her voice, and Jacob can feel his own expression soften. He takes a good long swig, and hums with appreciation. While strictly opposed to heavy liquor, Jacob doesn't mind a cold beer every once in a while, and with all the pressure of _setting an example,_ he hasn't had a chance to enjoy one in ages.

Faith waits for him to speak first, all soft smiles, never losing patience, never pushing.

"Joseph fill you in on what's been going on?" He asks finally, putting the emptied bottle aside and reaching for the sweet tea instead.

"Depends," she shrugs, "what he tells me, I already know. What he doesn't, I shouldn't anyway."

"What I mean is, has he told you about the -"

"The Father does not _gossip_ , brother." The admonishment is gentle, but firm. "What The Voice spoke to him about you, concerns you and you alone."

This is fucking _useless,_ Jacob thinks. A waste of his goddamn time. She can't help him. Can't or won't, it doesn't matter which, Faith might want what's best for him, she usually does, but Joseph's word overrules that, too.

"I won't speak to you as a Herald," Faith says then, right on time, "but I will try to ease your burden. As your sister."

What did he ever do to deserve her? What had he done to prove worthy of being a brother to an angel?

"Dunno where to start," Jacob says, relenting to her kindness, "it's all fuckin' messed up."

"Tell me about it." It's not clear whether she says that in agreement, or in encouragement to continue. Jacob picks the former, and lapses into silence, waiting for Faith to figure out what's on his mind on her own. She does that more often than not, anyway.

"You do realize love is not an _actual_ battlefield, right?" She asks, seemingly apropos of nothing. "I know it's easier for you to think so, but it's just an expression, Jake."

"Who said anything about _that_?"

"You sure didn't," Faith snorts, breaking character for a split second, and then promptly returning to her serene, angelic self. "Did she really break your heart?"

" _Faith._ " It comes out as a growl, a warning. 

"Fine. You can be difficult, if you like." She tucks her bare feet under herself, curling up in the chair. "Or you can let go of what made you come all this way. As happy as it would make me, I doubt you descended from your mountains for some contraband beer and the pleasure of my company."

"Fair point." Jacob concedes. He chooses his next words carefully, and when he starts talking, it's an attempt at a summarized debriefing: "The deputy's training was proceeding as planned, and I… I got compromised. I _underestimated_ her. She got close."

Jacob has to grit his teeth before continuing, to steady his voice, to calm the resentment seeping through his words. Resentment towards the deputy, yes, but mostly towards himself.

"She…" He takes a deep breath and corrects himself. " _We_."

Faith watches him struggle for a short moment, before ending his misery with an understanding nod. She says nothing, and somehow, that's even worse than if she were to openly judge him.

"She took that as an invitation to try and take off with my key," he finishes.

" _How_ did she do that, exactly?"

"If that's what you wanna take away from this, fuckin' ask her yourself." Faith's eyes go wide at his tone, and she recoils, scared, defensive. It makes Jacob feel like shit. " _Fuck_. 'S not what I meant."

It's not an apology, not really, but it's enough. Placated, Faith reaches out to him. He lets her, bracing for the inevitable touch, but she simply refills his drink.

"It's okay," she says. "I understand."

"Good."

"I understand her, too. Lost as she is, alone as she is, I too would latch on to someone, and hold them close. I know what it's like, to wander aimlessly, to never belong. To never be appreciated by _anyone_. When I found a place I belonged, I didn't want to let it go either." Faith smiles, looking into the distance, "just like her."

 _What the fuck_.

"That's… not what happened."

Faith snaps her gaze back at him.

"I can see you searching, and oh, you look _lost_ ," she says. "Both of you."

"Faith-"

"It would do you good to remember that no one can carry a weight as heavy as yours alone, Jake. A burden shared is a burden halved, hm?" She tries a smile, but it falters. "It doesn't always have to be family. I could be a loved one. A story, told over a… a meal."

"Are you suggesting I take the deputy out for _dinner_?" Jacob tries to keep his tone even, but the poisonous residue of sarcasm still gets through. Luckily, Faith takes it in stride this time.

"And why not? What is she doing right now, anyway?"

"What she's told," he huffs.

"You sure about that?"

"Positive," Jacob doesn't try to conceal the bitterness in his words, not from Faith. "And she'll keep doing what she's told, because that's what she is _. Weak._ And then it'll be over, before she knows it, one way or another, and there's not a goddamned thing she can do 'bout _that_."

"And you're not looking forward to that, are you." It's not a question, and the pity in Faith's voice makes him recoil. The fact that he deserves it hurts even more. "What is it you want from her, then?"

"I want nothing _from_ her, I want - " the words come out on their own volition, and Jacob is only grateful he reigns himself in before completing that sentence.

But Faith hears it anyway.

"Maybe John could help you better than I." There's a faint smile on her lips, knowing, hinting, _irritating_.

"You know what he's gonna say," Jacob can't help a laugh - grim, resigned.

"Oh, I do. But maybe you need to hear it."

Maybe Faith is right, Jacob wonders when their conversation inevitably meanders its way into a companionable silence, followed by her usual suggestion that he stay the night, and him, as always, refusing.

He calls John as soon as he's out of the Bliss fields.

"I wish to confess," Jacob tells him, and John, for once, has nothing stupid to say. He takes his duties _very_ seriously.

Maybe this is not what Faith had in mind, but this is what Jacob needs. A reminder that in order to be strong, he has to recognize his _weakness_.

 


	14. The Humbling River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music: The Humbling River by Puscifer

 

The absolute detachment in Jacob's voice as he gives Pratt detailed instructions on how to restrain her most efficiently was to be expected, Rook figures.

She looks at Pratt, who is mumbling his sincerest apologies as he secures her wrists behind her back, and then at Jacob, who isn't even sparing her a second glance. It's not like she didn't expect him to be distant and fucking _pissed_ , not after what happened and how he managed to misread the situation in the worst possible way. For all his strength, stoicism, and pride, he doesn't strike her as being particularly in touch with his emotions. The phrase _emotional constipation_ comes to Rook's mind, and when a hearty dose of PTSD is added into the mix, it's no wonder he reacts the way he does. He shuts her out, doesn't even give her a chance to explain herself, hell, he doesn't even _look_ at her, lest his precious preconceptions be challenged.

No, Jacob's apparent inability to accept the fact that she's interested in him is not what surprises her.

It's just that she didn't expect him to be such a fucking _coward_.

A coward who doesn't even have the decency to tie her up himself, who can't even touch her unless it comes in the form of a power trip, some kind of fucked-up way to establish dominance.

Rook doesn't give him a last look when Pratt, still apologizing, pulls a hood over her head. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction.

She's so preoccupied with the anger and bitterness that it takes a good twenty minutes in the car with Pratt before she remembers that there's a world outside Jacob and his complete idiocy, outside her confusion and inexplicable longing. More important things to focus on than her own wounded pride.

"Staci?" She calls out, thanking God for the small mercy of not having her mouth duct-taped.

"What?" That startles him, apparently, and Rook's heart aches for him, imagining what he had to go through to get so damn twitchy. 

"The hood, Staci," she tries to project more gentleness into her voice, "you can take it off me now."

"I - I _can_?"

Rook fights the urge to roll her eyes.

"I guess it's okay now, we're far enough from the cabin." Pratt mumbles, coming to a decision, and as the car momentarily slows down, the gift of sight is returned to her once again. "Just… just don't tell _him_ , okay?"

"Oh, Staci. I won't." It's an easy promise to make. Rook doesn't intend to do much talking next time she's face to face with Jacob.

She looks around, another nondescript road winding between the mountains giving her no indication as to the specifics of their location. Her fingers sweep over the car seat, searching for anything that could be used to unlock the handcuffs. Rook doubts Pratt would help her with that, or much of anything else, for that matter. The cognitive dissonance she put him through when asking to remove the hood is as far as she's willing to take it.

The day is saved when she finds a bobby pin. The whole damn county is littered with the things. How or why they seem to always be placed so conveniently for her to break out of any unpleasant situation is unclear, but Rook isn't about to question this apparent divine intervention. 

She works the lock while inspecting Staci. He looks… better, she has to admit. Still fucked up, but clearly healing, and Rook wonders if him catching a break from the beatings has anything to with the way he speaks to Jacob now. That tone, full of simpering adoration, eagerness to please and obey. Staci's always been kind of… _weird_ around the eldest Seed, as far as she remembers, but now it's a whole new level of unnerving.

"Jacob's stopped beating you?" Rook asks, keeping her eyes on him, figuring his body language will tell her more than his actual words.

"Brother Jacob treats me well," there's an unexpected amount of pride and defensiveness in the way Staci straightens up, raises his chin, expression becoming defiant and determined. He's not lying, she realizes to her surprise. Not telling the whole truth, but certainly not covering for Jacob's ass either.

"Did you fall down the stairs, then? Hit your face on the door frame?"

" _No_ ," he protests, hotly. "No-no-no-no. It was my _test._ He said I must be strong. He _wants_ me to be strong."

_Christ._

"Of course he does, Staci," Rook's voice is soft and reassuring when the handcuffs finally give with a satisfying click. She waits for a safe-looking stretch of the road before executing the maneuver she never thought she'd be capable of.

Asshole or not, Jacob is a good teacher, she has to give him that.

Moments later, it's Pratt who's secured in the passenger seat, and Rook is the one driving. She's barely out of breath, too, and poor Staci is so thrown off he doesn't even question her. Making her best guess as to their location, Rook turns the car and starts making their down the mountain, towards the nearest dock. Taking Pratt to Dutch's island seems most reasonable. There's no way in hell she's trusting the Militia with him - at this point, they're more likely to kill him on the spot than to help him towards a speedy recovery. Especially if they hear the way he talks about Jacob.

Unloading Pratt into a boat proves to be much easier than she'd expected. He's not exactly overjoyed to be taken away from his master, but doesn't put up much of a fight either. Rook contacts Dutch as she approaches the island.

"Rook here. Got Pratt out. Come pick up the parcel."

"Parcel? That bad, huh?"

"Got the good ol' Whitetail Mountains treatment. Still alive, but living and breathing Seed's word."

"I see. Come down for tea yourself, dep?"

"No can do. Getting back to the Whitetails. Things to do, people to kill, Jacob Seed to punch in the face. You understand."

"Good plan, kid. Leave your friend on them docks over by the boathouse. Gonna come collectin' myself."

"Thank you, Dutch. Rook out."

The brevity of their interactions is always a delight, the old prepper, discounting his numerous eccentricities, is concise and to the point unlike anyone else in this county. After depositing Pratt at the agreed location, Rook gets back in the boat in a hurry. Navigating around the island, afternoon sun blasting right in her face, she is pretty sure she'd managed to make a wrong turn somehow, because one of John's planes makes a _swoosh_ right above her.

Fucking great.

She hears the radio chatter coming through, a belated warning, as the plane swoops down towards her. No cover to be found, Rook dives underwater, and makes a swim for it.

Only poking her head out for air, she continues in what she presumes is the correct direction back towards the mountains, so really, it's no wonder she gets lost. Rook barely manages to catch a breath after reaching the wrong side of the Henbane River when Faith Seed pops into existence several feet away from her.

Rook looks around for Bliss flowers, and finds none in her immediate vicinity. She's pretty sure she'd already shaken off the residual Bliss from her swim, too.

And yet, Faith stands, or, more accurately, twirls right in front of her, humming softly, drifting closer and closer her way.

" _Deputy!_ " She all but sings, voice full of joy, "we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Faith."

"I know who you are," Rook raises her pistol, wary, daring Faith to take another step. She does. She settles down on the grass across of Rook.

"And you must be Eva," she says, still smiling, despite the gun being pointed straight at her. "Jacob is telling me all about you!"

_That's a… strange choice of words,_ Rook thinks, but doesn't vocalize. Probably wiser that way.

"It really isn't," Faith says, absently, and adds, "poor Jacob."

This is why Rook makes it a point to _never_ cross the river. This fucking shit right here.

"You must be dizzy. So many roads to choose. What to believe? Who to help first? When to trust?" Faith sighs, and makes a move as if she wants to take Rook's hand, but seems to think better of it. "I know, it must be so tough. To be torn apart between duty and heart… It's not easy, to care for one who carries such a burden, one who builds walls and mazes, making you so, so lost…"

"Yeah, I've gotten that impression from him," Rook admits, giving in to the youngest Seed's charms. She doesn't fault herself for it. She _is_ lost, and dizzy, and just plain fucking confused. If Faith wants a chitchat between them girls, a little heart-to-heart, that's what she's gonna get. "All the fucking mixed signals, how he doesn't collapse from the sheer tension and the cramps in his face from all the frowning he does, is beyond me."

"I wasn't talking about Jacob," Faith's smile widens. Rook didn't think that was even possible, and yet here they are. "But you are right, of course. My brother can be difficult, yes." she nods to herself. "So I must ask you to be… cautious next time."

Rook doesn't get the chance to respond before Faith's face darkens, angelic features contorting into a grimace, green eyes piercing straight through her.

"And if you're not…" There's a distinct note of a threat in Faith's lilting voice, "If you hurt him _again_ …"

She gets up and swirls away in a cloud of teal smoke, her last words reaching Rook from beyond the Bliss.

"Perhaps I'll introduce you to my family then, deputy. My… _other_ family."

Just like that, Faith is gone, as if she was never even there, and Rook has to hightail it the fuck out of here, unless she wants to repeat this questionable experience. Faith has a habit, she’d heard, to really make sure her lectures sink in, materializing out of thin air at the most inopportune times. Rook’s navigational skills are questionable even in the best of circumstances, her task made ever more complicated by the fact that she’s put a good amount of effort into _not_ getting familiar with the Henbane area. Gritting her teeth, Rook gets up and starts making her way through the landscape, doing her best to avoid any Bliss fields or Angel congregations in her path.

She's out of the region as soon as she finds a functional helicopter.

 


	15. Siren Call

 

Jacob has been away for two weeks - only two fucking weeks - and when he comes back to St. Francis, nothing is how it's supposed to be.

The first thing he notices is that Peaches is not there.

He asks around, and none of his men had seen or heard from him ever since Jacob had called him in to collect and deliver the deputy. The fact that she made it off with Pratt in tow at the first possible opportunity is hardly surprising. Jacob hadn't expected anything else from her, not after she'd shown what she's really after. She must've hidden Pratt away real good, because there's no way his loyal little Peaches wouldn't have found a way to crawl back to him, and _that_ is what unnerves Jacob the most. At least, until he gets the second half of the bad news, and then he has to really work at not shooting the messenger.

It turns out the deputy has fucking vanished, too.

It's been three days since he'd ordered Pratt to remove her from his sight, and she hasn't been seen in the Whitetail Mountains. He has people watching the cameras Eli had installed all over the region way back when, he has his hunters - the few of them that still remain - patrolling the area, all its nooks and crannies on a regular basis, and not a soul had found even a trace of her.

Jacob really shouldn't be unsettled by this turn of events, he should be _relieved,_ if anything else, grateful to catch a break from this increasingly stupid and dangerous task Joseph has bestowed upon him, but he's not. He doesn't even bother sleeping, settling instead for a quick shower before taking off to fix this mess.

Water doesn't wash away the exhaustion brought about by prolonged exposure to John, and it certainly doesn't wash away his sins.

Jacob still remembers the first tattoo John has given him, even though he can't see it _._ Hidden away from him on his back, a simple and elegant design hopelessly ruined by John's lack of practice at the time. It's been Jacob's only tattoo until two days ago. He's never felt the need to put every single misstep, every failure into writing, literally carve it into his skin for the world to see and himself to remember, like his brothers do. It took several conversations with John to find his sin, the sin so vast and all-encompassing, the sin that guides every step he strays away from the Path.

Pride.

The new addition is much less subtle, and once the healing process is over, there will be no hiding from it. A failure he didn't see coming, one that surprised even John. John, who'd seen the worst in all of them, who'd listened to every confession since the very beginning. When he's though putting the design into Jacob's skin, John is fucking _pissed_.

Jacob figures it must be equal parts hatred towards the deputy and envy towards him that throw his little brother off this much. Quiet, venomous rage is boiling right under his skin, his usual scathing wit and biting innuendos only a poor camouflage, a facade threatening to crack at any moment. Jacob suspects Holland Valley is going to see a dramatic increase in atonements in the coming days.

Being a part of the Family comes with its advantages, and at least Jacob doesn't have to look forward to being flayed. Questionable blessing, considering the bold font, the large letters branding the left side of his ribcage. It's a warning, a reminder of what his failures could cost him, the hell to pay if he lets the sin take over him.

Jacob is in an astoundingly foul mood when he steps out of the shower, his healing tattoo itching like a motherfucker, his workload increasing exponentially without a proper second-in-command, his personal mission in a limbo due to missing deputy. He almost wishes there'd be an easier way for him to relieve stress. John has his little torture sprees and an occasional lover here and there, Joseph has his prayer and the Lord's Voice, and Faith has the Bliss.

He has hunting, after all, he supposes, so hunting he shall go.

Whereas his Chosen are bound to the Whitetail Mountains, Jacob can go that extra mile, above and beyond, whatever it takes to find both of them. He's confident that if he finds one, the other is bound to be somewhere nearby.

In all honesty, it shouldn't surprise him that the deputy hasn't come back to his region. There's nothing left for her to gain here, really. She despises the Militia, and she busted her precious Peaches out, so it makes perfect sense for her to hole up somewhere and wait this shitshow out for the time being.

Who knows, maybe she still intends to come back to kill him at Eli's behest or out of pure principle, but boy does Jacob have plans for her if she's stupid enough to try.

"Bother Jacob, sir," a knock on his door interrupts his preparations for the upcoming hunt.

His men took his apparent resurrection in stride, and Jacob doesn't expect any less. But still, some of them are more wary around him now, careful of his temper, especially the weaker ones, and it seems the Faithful who's badgering him right now is one of the latter.

"There's a sinner that's been wandering around the perimeter for a couple of hours now. Keeps getting knocked back, but then gets up and keeps trying."

"And they're still alive? This kind of idiocy deserves to be put out of misery."

"I'm - I'm sorry, sir. We cannot do that, on your orders." words don't seem to come easy, and Jacob gives him a stern look, holding the squirming underling pinned down, a silent demand for clarification. "It's _the_ sinner."

 _Unbelievable._ She really _is_ that fucking stupid.

"Should we capture her, sir?" The Faithful is ready to serve and obey, but his fidgeting implies he's even more ready to get out of Jacob's range.

"I'll make sure to let you know _personally_ when that needs doing." The man looks profoundly uncomfortable at the thought. For a good reason, true, but Jacob still can't help but think that his men got soft in his absence. The absolute state of it all, indeed.

"Dismissed," he says, as an afterthought, to the Faithful who is still standing at attention by the door.

He heads towards the balcony, picking up his rifle on the way. It doesn't take long to find her - just behind the lake, sitting cross-legged on a large rock, the deputy isn't even trying to hide. In plain view of anyone with a good scope, she appears absolutely unbothered by the very real possibility of getting gunned the fuck down. Her hair and clothes are dripping wet, her equipment resting against the rock in a neat pile. Jacob can only wonder if she’s been trying to find some kind of secret passage under the lake. He has to give her credit for sheer determination, once more, the grit to try again and again after continuously failing for what must be hours now. There’s a thin line between determination and stupidity, and she is toeing that line _hard._ Alternatively, Jacob thinks, this might well be her plan. Make herself noticed. Get his attention. Bait him into giving it to her. If that’s the case, she’s an even bigger idiot than he’d thought. At this point she should be well aware that she should be careful with what she wishes for.

He watches her wipe her hands on the grass below her before rummaging in her backpack.

Jacob can scarcely believe his eyes. Rook is, honest to God, sitting right there, exposed and careless, and fucking _taking pictures_ of the vista in front of her.

He reaches for his radio on an impulse, and watches through his scope as the deputy is startled by the sudden sound.

"I don't recall telling you to return," he says, "and yet here you are. Right on fuckin' schedule."

Jacob can't quite decipher her expression from this distance, but he can see her pick up the radio and place it beside her.

"I have to ask, where'd you hide my Peaches, deputy? He's late for dinner."

In a rare breach of character, she remains absolutely silent. He can see her listening, putting away her camera, holding the radio closer, but she says nothing. It irritates him.

"I know you can hear me," Jacob puts effort into not showing the annoyance, this near-desperate need to hear her voice again. "I know you want to come back to me. And you are welcome to. Come _home._ There always will be a place for you. If you come as Family."

She raises her head, trying to figure out if he can actually see her, and smiles. Jacob's index finger twitches.

"Leave your weapons where they are now. Come unarmed, and my men will let you pass. Show me your good faith, and I will show you mine."

She keeps quiet. If that's her usual way of handling conversations, just letting people talk _at_ her, no fucking wonder half the county thinks she's mute.

"Or you can leave now. Leave, and I'll come get you myself when you're _worthy_."

Rook makes her move. Not sparing her gear a second look, she slides off the rock and strides towards the gates.

In retaliation, Jacob gives the order to stand down, switches off the invisible wall of music meant to keep her out, and makes a call.

John's vindictive excitement at Jacob's request cannot be concealed even by the radio static.


	16. Homecoming

Jacob stands at the ready in the middle of the empty courtyard. After a moment of consideration, in addition to the order to stand down, he tells his men to clear the immediate area, too. And keep out of their sight and way if at all possible.

He wonders how long it will take Rook to make the obvious conclusion, to ask in that half flirty, half mocking tone of hers, _wanted me all to yourself, didn't you?_

She's not exactly in a hurry, but her pace is steady and confident when she passes through the gate.

Jacob's heart makes that stupid leap, equal parts dread and exhilaration, at the sight of her.

He can feel his heart thumping in his throat with each step she takes. Beat. Fear. Beat. Dread. Beat. Exhilaration. Beat. Joy. Seeing her now, remembering what she looks and _feels_ like, Jacob can't deny it, even to himself, that _yes_ , he does want her all to himself. Why wouldn't he? Far be it from him to think with his dick instead of his brain, but he's also not about to go denying human nature. He _is_ glad to see her, he concedes, to make the other - more complicated - truth easier to swallow.

Jacob is _sorry_ for what's about to happen to her.

But… what if Rook really is coming to him in good faith? What if she'd switched sides, and there is a chance to salvage this whole situation? Jacob watches her, drawing closer with every breath, eyes trained on him, expression walled up. _Dream the fuck on._ He's willing to bet, say, ten bucks, that she's going to attempt to use what she'd learned against him and try to take him out, unarmed and disadvantaged though she is.

He isn't entirely wrong, and her move isn't entirely unexpected.

One moment she's standing right in front of him, looking up, a storm brewing in her eyes, and the next - she's pulling him down. Jacob lets her. He kisses her back, too, _just this once_ , he tells himself. Something within him stirs, forgotten and neglected, boiling through layers of concrete, and it erupts with a whisper. _Don’t let go_. It's emotional bullshit, her fucking doing, no doubt, but it’s _fine_ , Jacob repeats to himself, not like it's ever going to happen again. Not after what's in store for her. Not after what he's going to do to her. This apparent little crush of hers is about to run its course, and _fast._ He clings to this rationality, lets it carry him, washing away what damage she has already done.

So he savors the moment while it lasts, without questioning her motives, without hesitating. His hand fits perfectly on her waist, so he pulls her closer, and he delights in the little gasp of surprise that draws from her. As Jacob finally draws away from her, he sees his own eyes reflected in hers - a stormy sea, threating to pull him under again.

He has a tranquilizer syringe in his other hand, behind his back, trying his damned hardest to _not_ think about it. He thinks of the comfort, the understanding, the _calm_ he had back then, that night she'd come back to him. It seems years and years had passed since. Why can’t he just get that back? He wants this, he repeats to himself, feeling the weight of the syringe in his hand. If there's ever an opportune moment to do it, it's now, _right this very second_ , but he just can't let her go, can't disengage. Jacob just holds her there, inches from his face, staring into her eyes. _Just a little bit more,_ he pleads against himself, and then, _do it, show her who's in control, show her she is weak_ , conflicting thoughts looping over and over, lost inside this moment, mourning his inability to stay there forever.

And then it's too late.

Rook really needs to work on her left hook, Jacob thinks belatedly. She's got the element of surprise down, that much is true, but she still hits like a girl.

She just stands there, breathless, looking at him expectantly. Furious, but thrilled, cheeks flushed, pupils blown out. She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and he has to look away, if only for a second.

"You done with your melodrama?" Jacob asks her, resisting the urge to rub his jaw. "Got it all out of your system?"

She doesn't reply, just narrows her eyes, and this whole silent treatment is _really_ starting to grate on him.

"Talk to me." Jacob tells himself it's a command. But Rook catches on to the subtle difference in his tone, and her fierce expression softens, if only barely.

"I don't _want_ to talk to you," she says, "I figure special treatment spoils you too."

"Tough shit," he tells her, ignoring the second part of her sentence. "Gonna do what you're fuckin' told, for once. You came here on your free will, dep. And that's just how things work 'round here."

"You're really fucking delusional if you think I’m here to stay," she snorts, derisively. "You Seeds are all so fucking full of this misguided, overly-inflated self-importance. I’m _done._ I finished what I came here for. You won. I'll leave you be. Good luck with your recruitment efforts and all that. I truly hope you and Eli just get it over with and kill each other, get that final satisfaction before the apocalypse hits.  Maybe that will make you somewhat less fucking miserable. I'll be focusing my efforts on causes that aren't lost by default." With a deep sigh, Rook finishes her speech and turns on her heel.

There it is. The solution to every single one of his problems, right at his fingertips. He just has to watch her leave, one last time, and then she’ll never be a threat to him or the Project ever again. He trusts her to keep her promise, that trust reinforced by the knowledge of her changed attitude towards the Family, towards their cause in general.

Even Joseph wouldn't be able to find fault with the way Jacob handled the situation.

But Jacob and Rook have much more in common than he’d initially thought, because he deliberately ignores this chance to make his own life easier, too.

"D'you really think it's gonna be that simple?" Jacob asks, not raising his voice, but she hears it anyway and looks at him over her shoulder. "That I'm just gonna let you walk out like that?"

"What are you gonna do to stop me? More brainwashing? Seems like it’s the only way you can get people to stand being around you, so try me." Jacob can't quite tell if it's a challenge, an indication of disbelief, or a genuine question. He treats it as all of the above.

"And what would you know about that? Fuck, dep, you don't even know the difference between brainwashing and conditioning. _I_ do. I know what I'm doing. And I know you ain't seen nothing yet." When she doesn't reply, he presses further. "Is that what you want? Want to see me _really_ give it my best?"

Rook makes a thoughtful expression, as if considering her options. In the end, she just shakes her head.

"I'm not gonna be the one to teach you morality and emotional maturity, Jacob, I'm sorry."

"Why do you insist on being so goddamn stubborn?" He asks, instead of asking what the fuck she actually means by that.

"Why are you such a fucking coward?"

"Thin _fuckin'_ ice, deputy." Her words sting, not because she's right, but because she has no idea what she's talking about. "I've killed people for less."

"Don't you mean you've _eaten_ people for less?"

"Watch your goddamn mouth." It comes out as a growl. Jacob hadn't even noticed closing the distance between them.

_"Bite me."_

The shit-eating grin in front of him is the last thing he remembers.

By the time Jacob comes to, the damage is done. Somehow, he still manages to bark a command to take her away. He stands alone in St. Francis’ courtyard for a long while, staring at his hands, breathing hard, counting to ten and back, over and over. Biting his lip and screwing his eyes shut, Jacob has never been happier to find himself one syringe poorer and _without_ blood on his hands, for once.

Close call.

It's a good thing John is going to be relieving him of his duties, even if only for a short while. Jacob only has to do his best to avoid her until that day comes.

It's much easier to be said than done, and initially he catches himself halfway to her cage whenever he's in the general vicinity. It's pointless to talk to her now, he has to remind himself. She's just going to do what she always does - talk shit, be a general pain in the ass, completely uncooperative and unmanageable, tempting in all the worst possible ways. Jacob is determined to keep up the treatment for as long as it takes for the deputy to learn some manners and some common fucking sense.

Day after day, it gets easier and easier to forget about her presence. Just another difficult sinner, being broken into shape, nothing more, nothing less. Some time off does wonders, and Jacob diverts his attention to more pressing tasks, letting the work consume him entirely.

The gnawing feeling that he's making the _wrong_ choice doesn't go away as easily, but Jacob is strong enough to not act on it.

Seven days, and she hasn't starved to death yet when John finally calls him and announces his successful landing, and that's good enough. It will have to be.

 


	17. Bold And Brave

 

 

John brings him a present.

"We really should tell Faith to leave the river be for a while," he says, gesturing to one of Jacob's men to pick up the unconscious Peaches. Jacob doesn't even mind the smug look on his little brother's face as he gets out of his plane. "Poor deputy Pratt got all confused swimming around, trying to find you, and he's not the first, let me tell you that."

Jacob gives Pratt a cursory look, inspecting for any lasting damage, finding himself relieved when he sees none. 

"He's still blissed out?"

"God, no. I couldn't stand his endless stuttering praise to you, and the stream of apologies he was preparing to offer you upon coming back." John turns his gaze from Pratt to him, removing his sunglasses in that theatrical, dramatic way of his. "Honestly, Jacob, what the hell did you _do_ to him?"

"Nothing besides the usual," Jacob shrugs. It's easier to pretend that he has no idea what John is talking about than to get mired in this conversation again.

"I mean, he's always been, hmm, reverent, shall we say? Like that one time, at the bar in Fall's End? Thanked you for your service and everything."

Oh yes, he can remember that _very_ well. He wishes he'd remembered it just as clearly _before_ beginning his routine work on Pratt. And while it still worked out in his favor, the result is somewhat uncomfortable to talk about in a polite conversation.

"But now? I guess we can see here what happens when you brainwash someone who's a-"

" _John_." Jacob channels as much big brother authority as he can. "You have a job to do. Get to it."

"That's right!" John's eyes glint with wicked delight as he looks around the Veterans Center. "The _other_ deputy. What is it about deputies specifically that makes you fuck up so colossally, Jacob? Is it the uniforms?"

"Please, John. At least there's a pattern to my fuck-ups." Jacob grins, finding surprise in John's expression, whether at his tone, or him admitting the failure, he isn't quite sure. "Yours are just… all over the place."

"I'm wounded." John tells him, but his smile shows it's all good-natured fun. "Just as I'm impressed. Are you taking pointers from Deputy Rook on how to smack talk?"

"Mm. Not much of a talker lately, that one."

"Oh _no_. You guys broke up or something?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself? I'll even give her some water so she can actually _respond_."

They walk across the yard and up the stairs, John looking around with curiosity, appearing quite inspired by the activity around him. Jacob had a room set up for John's work, complete with a modified dentist's chair his men hauled all the way from the basement. John doesn't waste time. He takes off his coat, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to laying out his equipment flat on the table by the window. It's mostly tattooing stuff, needles, ink, a couple of sheets worth of designs, and an occasional scalpel here and there.

"Bring her food," John says, without turning around, focused on his task. "Something sweet, ideally. And plenty of water."

"Not gonna happen."

"Do you want her to pass out halfway through? If that's what you're after, I can arrange it, but I imagine her being awake and conscious would provide _much_ more entertainment."

"I don't find this particularly entertaining."

"That's why you're so fucking grumpy all the time.” Jacob can hear John’s smirk, without even looking at him. “Can't let yourself have any fun. It's _sad_ , Jacob. You need to learn how to unwind from time to time."

"I'm _fine_."

"Of course you are," John snorts. Fortunately for them both, one of the Faithful finally brings in the deputy, and Jacob is rescued from this uncomfortable conversation.

She's conscious and surprisingly cooperative. Or, at least, what passes for cooperation in her case - not actively fighting against the restraints, not _talking_ to get herself out of this predicament, she just lets the man get her seated and strapped in. She doesn't look at him, not even once, focusing her attention on John instead.

"Anything else, sir?" The Faithful asks after securing deputy in the chair.

"Bring her, I don't know, a candy bar or something," John turns to the man, all smiles and pleasantries, "if you'd be so kind."

Jacob trained his men better than this, they know better than to take orders from anyone but _him_ , and it shows in the way the man turns to him for confirmation.

Jacob unconsciously rubs his own, still healing, tattoo, and thinks back on what the process of getting it involved. He'd rather spare her that experience. It's a kindness, he tells himself, even though Rook is definitely not going to see it that way.

Jacob shakes his head and tilts his chin at the door, letting him know he's dismissed.

"Suit yourself," John mutters to him and then, to Rook: "Deputy! It's been ages since our last meeting. You cannot imagine how _glad_ I am Jacob gave us this opportunity to reunite. Talk things over."

Rook looks up at him, shrugging one shoulder, a gesture that wordlessly conveys her response. _Go ahead then, talk._

John extends his hand towards Jacob, his eyes still fixed on the deputy.

"Your canteen, Jacob." His tone doesn't allow for any objections, and Jacob complies, begrudgingly. He has to trust his brother, he tells himself. That's why he'd brought him here, after all.

John keeps up his pleasant, easy-going act, polished to perfection. He's leaning over Rook, and somehow it doesn't seem intimidating or imposing at all. He's trying to put her at ease, Jacob figures, play the good cop off of Jacob's treatment of her, and, to his dismay, it seems to work. She accepts the water, drinking greedily as John tilts the canteen towards her lips. She's showing no restraint, she's bound to lose all of it if she keeps it up, and John helps her with that, too. Slow and gentle, as if he actually means well, he patiently allows her to take small sips only, brushing hair away from her face, and Jacob has to really work to not knock his hand away from her.

Rook withdraws with a heavy sigh, leaning her head back against the chair, eyes closed.

"Alright," she croaks, "what do _you_ want from me?"

"Deputy." John caresses her cheek, and Jacob notices she doesn't recoil from his touch. "I don't want anything _from_ you. I have something _for_ you.”

"Ooh, a gift? For me? Is it a pony?" Rook grins at John, who is, surprisingly, unaffected by her disruptive personality.

" _Absolution_." Jacob has to make a conscious effort not to snort at John's dramatic reveal. His baby brother is having fun, and Jacob isn't going to spoil it. Not yet.

"You guys suck. I never get anything cool."

"Now, this is the part where you make your confession," John sifts through his sketches as he speaks, ignoring her effortlessly. "But it so happens that my brother confessed _for_ you."

Jacob steels himself for when Rook will inevitably look at him, searching for answers. He can already picture her puzzled expression, brows drawn together, an inquisitive gaze fixed on him.

She doesn't even flinch. There's no movement in his direction.

" _Wow_." She drawls, smirking at John, "Am I the belle of the ball? Because, evidently, I am the only one in this room with any… actual balls.”

"My, my, deputy. You do have a lovely voice." John returns her smirk, "but I must admit, I preferred you mute. Could imagine you having a better sense of humor, then."

"It's okay, you don't live up to my expectations either." Rook taps her feet quietly, arching over as much as her restraints lets her, inspecting John's tools. "The point being that both of you are such pussies, I don't know how you missed it, honestly.  But then I remembered I was dealing with a Seed and, if you’re anything like your brother, you do _not_ do well with subtle cues."

"Oh, the subtlety." John laughs, dryly, quietly. His equipment set up and ready for use, he turns towards the deputy.

"So," her voice is tinted with an odd sort of impatience, "what am I getting today? A butterfly? A cool tramp stamp? What about a tribal tattoo? Or a pin-up girl?"

"Anything for you, sweetheart, just not today." John puts on latex gloves with a snap. "I know, it’s a damn shame. But Jacob insisted you’d be besties and get matching sins."

"Is it _lust_?" Jacob is overcome with a wave of intense hatred at her words, at her smug smile. "I bet it's lust."

John laughs, loudly this time, his perfect composure breaking, and looks at Jacob with unabashed amusement, a knowing smile in his eyes.

"Get fuckin' started already." Jacob isn't even aware he's rising up to John's bait before it's too late. There's something about this chit chat of theirs, the way she finds it so easy to fall into comfortable banter with John, the way he'd put a hand on her, without her flinching. Sure, she was restrained, but she could have done _anything_ to move away. And she chose not to.

"Keep that _wrath_ in check, brother dear," John's eyes linger on him for a moment too long, assessing just how affected he is by this unfolding situation. "I’m about to make this woman into a living monument to my artistic skill. I want her to be _comfortable_."

"Oh John, I had no idea you cared so much." She bats her lashes, all innocence. "If you really mean that, could you undo my straps?"

"I'd rather save _that_ for a special occasion, deputy."

“Is there anything I can do to hurry this up?” Jacob asks with a long, suffering sigh. This blatant idiotic flirting needs to stop. Not like he expected any less from John, but if Rook is trying to make him jealous, she's doing an awful job of it.

"Yes, actually, there is." John looks somewhat uncomfortable for a moment, and his next words make it crystal clear as to why. "I need you to remove her shirt. And don’t shake your head at me - you wanted this to happen, and I am _not_ undressing a woman without her consent."

"That can be arranged. Rook," Jacob carefully changes his tone ever so slightly when addressing her, making sure she looks at him and _listens._ "Say _yes_."

John's surprised chuckle barely registers in his mind. She looks at him.

_Fuck._

Jacob realizes the mistake, as soon as the words leave his mouth, their shared look betraying him, a minuscule detail that Rook is sure to pick up on.

"No," she says, a bare hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. It's not the good kind of smile. It spells danger. "I want you to do it."

Jacob doesn't even need to look at John to know what kind of expression he makes at that. Hesitating, he weighs his options. He could call for one of his men, outsource the problem. No. John would get prissy. Partly because of the consent thing, sure, but mostly because he wants to see Jacob squirm. Tough shit, he isn't going to cower in fear of touching a girl, he's not a fucking teenager anymore. He sighs, resigned, knowing this wouldn't end before _he_ does it.

With grim determination, he takes a step towards the chair. He unsheathes his knife, weighing it in his hand, delaying the inevitable. Rook quirks an eyebrow at him, taunting, challenging. He has to get on with it, lest she perceives it as a weakness, and then there's gonna be no recovering from that.

Jacob stretches her tank top out, taut against his knife, his eyes never leaving hers, and slices it in one swift movement.

"Her bra, too, if it's not too much trouble," John's voice reaches him as if through the fog, like a Bliss-induced haze.

Rook doesn't flinch when the coolness of the steel presses against her bare skin. She bites her lower lip, eyes half-closed, earlier smile all but forgotten. The incident in the courtyard, even the week of starvation at his command had changed _nothing._ The temptation to drive the knife through her ribs is calling him, promising sweet release, but it is easier to resist than ever before.

Neither of them deserves an easy way out, Jacob tells himself, finishing the task.

He doesn't look at her when he leaves the room.

 


	18. But Some Cannot Tell Wrong From Right

 

  

John wasn't kidding when he promised to create art on her skin.

Rook only finds that out after it's all over. It doesn't take her long to pass out under John's tattoo machine. A week's worth of starvation, dehydration, and exhaustion, all combined with the pain of getting her ribs tattooed - something that's excruciating enough even when you're in the best of physical conditions. She wakes up in the cage, again, in the early morning hours, and she's fucking _freezing._

She'd been absolutely certain that John would just leave her as is, exposed, aching, and naked from waist up, but the younger Seed proves to be much more of a gentleman. Rook finds herself wearing John's signature blue dress shirt, and her new tattoo - cleaned up and covered with a protective film. It still aches, and John's shirt, fashionable as it is, does fuck all to protect her from the cold air of the mountains.

Still, she unbuttons it carefully, and inspects her brand new ink.

Once again, John manages to surprise her. She'd seen the work done on the others, Peggies and other sinners alike, and their tattoos are _nothing_ like the one she's got. There's clearly been a lot of thought and effort put into her design, and the execution of the concept is flawless.

She doesn't need to turn her head, she won't even need a mirror to read it properly. It's an ambigram, a warning to others and a reminder to herself, and yes, of course, it's _lust_.

She'd laugh if she had any moisture in her throat to spare.

Instead, she buttons the shirt back up, and just in time, too, because she's blessed with the sight of the Seed brothers, Jacob showing John out, by the look of it. Jacob's body language all but screams _tense_ , which, knowing him, is not exactly news, but it's almost like he can't wait to be rid of John. Somehow, Rook has the impression that this is _not_ the regular way of things. Based on the stories Jacob has told her, the two usually get along just fine. The mere thought that _she's_ the cause of them glaring daggers at each other is both absurd and hilarious, Rook thinks, but then she remembers what John said about matching tattoos. The mental image of _that_ is almost enough to make her reconsider her decision to leave this whole shitshow, but not quite. Somehow, Jacob being this jealous doesn't really come as a surprise, but it doesn't do much to redeem him in her eyes, either. That incident it the courtyard, sure, she'd been a complete bitch to him, and yes, she'd been trying to bait him into doing something, _anything,_ but Rook has firmly decided that the subsequent attack on her person, the torture and starvation he'd put her through are an overkill.

If that's the way he deals with feelings he doesn't like, she wants no part in it, as much as it hurts to leave him for good.

Rook looks up just in time to catch a glimpse of John waving goodbye to her, before her view of the yard is obstructed by Jacob's imposing figure. He stops in front of her cage, close enough for any conversation that may happen between them to remain private, and crosses his arms.

"D'you have fun last night, deputy?" He asks by the way of greeting, tone perfectly neutral and collected.

"Not as much as you," she cracks a grin at him. "But at least I managed to stay the whole way through."

"You weren't as entertaining as you seem to think of yourself."

"I sure hope _John_ didn't think so." If he really _is_ as jealous as she perceives him to be, pushing him further will provide her with months' worth of satisfaction. "Cause lemme tell you, that would break my heart."

"Lust _really_ fits you, deputy." There's bitterness in Jacob's tone, mixed with icy disdain and arrogance, but it doesn't quite conceal the hurt lurking in there, too.

"I'd say it looks good on you too," she meets his eyes, and continues before he manages to look away, "but I wouldn't know. I've always been of the opinion that it's the _wrong_ Seed that walks around shirtless. What a _waste_ , honestly."

"Is that supposed to make me feel uncomfortable?" He raises an eyebrow at her, unimpressed, and it takes Rook a moment to follow what is it he's referring to. A pang of guilt hits her when she realizes how easily her words could've been misinterpreted as a mockery of his scars.

"No," Rook tells him honestly. "It's supposed to keep you around long enough for me to address what a fucking awful person you are."

"You have _no_ idea." His eyes flash with dark amusement.

"Are you telling me there's anything worse than lying to me, inviting me as a _guest_ , and then fucking attacking me?" 

"Better believe it." Jacob sounds like he's genuinely having _fun_ , and Rook figures she must be doing something completely wrong, and it calls for a change in tactics. 

"Yeah, okay, I see how that's a possibility," she concedes, "I just don't really see why it had to be so _intense_."

His expression turns thoughtful, and Rook bites her tongue, suppressing all the sarcastic remarks she'd prepared. She's too curious to see where this is gonna go.

"Has it occurred to you that maybe I just… didn't want you to leave?" Jacob chooses his words with slow deliberation, as if he’s fully aware he’s going to regret them as soon as he’s done, and he avoids looking at her as he speaks.

Dozens of different possible replies cycle through her mind, and Rook makes an effort to not get overwhelmed by the possibilities, because _damn_ , she'd just hit gold. And she fully intends to exploit the _fuck_ out of it. Even if she doesn't manage to hurt him as bad as she's hurting, even if Jacob finally snaps and strangles her through the cage bars, it's a worthy hill to die on.

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath in anticipation.

"It's not just _lust_ to you, is it?" His expression doesn't tell her anything, he's just staring her down with that cold, familiar intensity. "You would've already gotten it out of your system, if that's all it was. Not like you lacked opportunities."

He tilts his head at her, impassive, and Rook holds the pause, inspecting him, lining up her attack.

"I honestly can’t tell if you’re stupid, or just that fucking emotionally stunted." Jacob likes to think that his face doesn’t betray much, but now Rook sees right through him. Hell, at this point she might know him better than he knows himself. Which is… telling. "Come on, Seed, I doubt any amount of war trauma can make someone _this_ incompetent. It's really quite something."

"Take your time," Jacob rumbles at her, a picture of patience, as he leans his shoulder against the bars. "I'm _very_ invested in seeing where that desperation of yours takes you, deputy."

"You. Stupid. Little _. Boy_." Rook can't help herself, she laughs, this is just _precious_. "It’s even worse than I thought. You somehow managed to delude yourself. Good work. Congratulations. The only person in the immediate vicinity you've successfully brainwashed is _you_.”

"Does this have a point, or is your creativity startin' to run out?"

"You're in love with me," she throws the words at him, a challenge, an accusation.

It takes a moment, but then, predictably, Jacob laughs at her.

"I’m not."

"Oh yes, you are."

" _No_."

"Are we really doing this?" Rook rolls her eyes. "Are you fucking _twelve_?"

"You started it."

"You are _not_ for real right now. You're fucking with me." She eyes him. "Oh, God help me. You _are_ serious. Fine, what do you think this is then?"

He inspects her, carefully, thoughtfully.

"'S just flirting, deputy. Little back and forth."

This man, Rook thinks, it's gonna be a miracle if he doesn't die sad and alone, surrounded by fifteen wolves.

"No, Seed. What John and I had was _flirting_."

Jacob snorts, arrogance coming off of him in waves.

"What, that attempt at making me jealous? _That_ was your best shot at flirting?"

"Mm. Isn't that… Interesting." Rook grins, and doesn't elaborate, savoring his impatience, clear in the way he can't help himself from taking a couple restless paces along the cage.

" _What?_ " He finally asks, and _bam_ , the trap she'd laid out slams shut. She played her cards, and played them well.

"You seem to be under the impression that I was deliberately trying to make you jealous. Seems like a weird impression for someone, not romantically interested in said person, to have." Once again, he's rendered speechless, seething with quiet anger at himself for falling for such an obvious set-up. "I assume John hasn't told you what we've been up to once you left?"

"You’re bluffing." Jacob says, voice carefully controlled to the point of sounding artificial, just as Rook starts to doubt whether the implications of her words managed to sink in at all.

"I am," she admits, easily. "But… Is that _relief_ on your face? You _really_ wanted it to be a bluff. Why's that, Jacob?"

"Okay." Jacob sighs, as if coming to some sort of conclusion. He straightens up, rolls his shoulders. "This is fuckin' _sad_. I'll send someone to feed you shortly, deputy, because you're delusional from hunger. I personally think you haven’t learned your lesson just yet, but at this point, it’s either that or have you put out of your misery. And that kinda defeats the purpose."

As Rook watches him walk away, the metaphor of playing chess against a pigeon comes to her mind. Jacob probably thinks he'd won, too.

 

 


	19. Sacrifice The Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning for semi-graphic description of violence.

 

He can't sleep.

Judging by the sky outside his window, it must be around three in the morning, and Jacob isn't _already_ awake, he is _still_ fucking awake.

At least he doesn't get any nightmares this way, he thinks, but it makes for a poor consolation. Considering recent events, he'd take nightmares over thinking about Rook in a heartbeat.

_It's not just lust to you, is it?_

Jacob dismisses that particular memory, focusing instead on the conversation they'd had before her last training session. If thinking about her is inevitable, might as well redirect his thoughts into something productive, he figures. He'd told her about Miller, a last-ditch attempt to make her _stop_ , to instill the fear of God into her, because at this point it's not enough that she leaves his region, he has to make sure he roots out any _interest_ she may or may not harbor towards him. Rook listens to the story intently, not saying a word, taking in the full scope of what Jacob is relying to her. Judging by how her eyes widen, how her expression becomes thoughtful and then - guarded, it's clear she finally gets it.

He is not someone to be fucked with, and she'll do well to remember that.

Her feelings, misguided as they are, have no use to him, mean _nothing_ to him, and they certainly won't stop him from doing what's necessary if she pushes him far enough.

_You would've already gotten it out of your system, if that's all it was._

…at any rate, that conversation about Miller seemed surprisingly one-sided. It could be that Rook was simply too starved and dehydrated to talk, seeing how she'd refused the food he ordered Pratt to give her. Jacob knows her well enough to be suspicious, still. Whenever the deputy chooses to remain silent for a prolonged amount of time, it inevitably leads to some sort of unpleasantness.

Since he can't sleep anyway, he might as well go check up on her, see to it that she doesn’t do anything stupid.

When Jacob makes it down to the moonlit courtyard, he is once again proven that it's not paranoia if you turn out to be right.

Rook is gone.

He has completely forgotten what actual _panic_ feels like. Not the nightmare induced fight-or-flight, based on events and people long gone, but the fear caused by very tangible, very real inevitability of loss.

Her escaping his care this time is not authorized, and for a damn good reason. Before, he’d cut her loose on his own terms, a controlled environment, and only after all possible outcomes had been taken into account. But now… She has nowhere to go. She _can't_ go anywhere at all, not when she's near delirious with starvation, and when there's wolves in the forest, and when all she's wearing to protect herself from the cold is John's shirt. Endless scenarios course through Jacob’s imagination, each worse than the last, spurring him into action – he has to move, go, do _something,_ whatever it takes to undo this.

_Congratulations. The only person in the immediate vicinity you've successfully brainwashed is you._

He cannot lose her.

Whichever unfortunate soul has decided to take her from him is about to regret every single decision they'd made in their entire life that has led them to this point. Even if she was saved by Joseph's own divine intervention, even if John or Faith took her away for a cup of tea and a chat, it all matters exactly none. The thought that he'd step over his own family without a second thought for _her_ sake doesn't unsettle Jacob as much as it probably should, not now, not when she could _die_ out there, cold and starving, and it would be _his_ fault.

Fortunately for everyone involved, Jacob finds the person responsible quickly enough, before any irreversible damage is done.

There's only one person in St. Francis who could possibly know where she is.

Hell, there's only one person in this entire _county_ stupid enough to help her escape.

Peaches is cowering in fear, hiding from him, looking guilty as all hells, like a pup who'd taken a shit on the carpet. Jacob tried, he really tried his damned fucking hardest to be lenient, understanding, to make up for the mess he'd made out of Pratt. But being a pathetic, broken _weakling_ is only gonna shield him so long, and today is the day Jacob decides that Peaches' luck had finally ran out.

Grabbing him by the collar of his uniform, Jacob peels Pratt off the floor, lifts him off his feet, and slams him against the wall. Hand on his throat, Jacob towers over his subordinate, and takes steadying breaths before settling into a different kind of fury. It's no less terrifying, more focused, and considerably more deadly.

"Do you feel like a hero yet?" He asks him, quietly. "Saved the girl from the bad guy, that it?"

Jacob isn't putting any pressure into his grip, he's merely holding Pratt in place, so there really is no excuse for him not to reply, and Jacob finds his patience has run dry.

"Tell me, _Peaches,_ " he all but spits out, "are you a fuckin' _hero_?"

"N-no, sir."

"That's right," Jacob purrs into his ear, "you're not. You're a _tool_. A tool that _broke_."

Staci's eyes go wide with absolute terror.

"You broke so bad, Peaches, that there's no fixing you now. But it's okay. Nobody's irreplaceable." He blinks, slowly, willing himself to calm down, before adding: "Nobody but her."

There's a barely perceptible shadow of a smile on Pratt's face, and Jacob smells blood.

"Which part of that was it you find funny?" He asks, fully aware of how juvenile it sounds, how obvious it is at this point that he's willing to latch on to any excuse to tear Pratt to shreds. When no answer follows, he continues, "d'you know why you're not dead yet?"

"No, sir."

"Of course you don't. Where is she?"

"I don't know!" There's tears threatening to burst out, and Jacob has to look away, because it’s fucking pathetic. "She - she must've fallen on one of the trucks, and then it drove away, and I don't know where it went, I don't know, sir, I'm sorry, _I don't know!_ "

"Do you at least know why the _fuck_ you let her go?"

Pratt attempts to straighten himself in Jacob's grip, regain some semblance of dignity.

"You don't treat her right. That's not who you are," he says, quietly, but with a measure of determination quite unbecoming of Peaches. "Sir," he adds, as an afterthought.

Unbelievable.

Jacob lets him go, watches him slide down the wall into a puddle, and takes a deep breath.

The first hit lands on Pratt's face with a loud crunch.

John was wrong, Jacob thinks as minutes pass, as his knuckles start to feel numb. This is not _fun_. There's no joy to be found in this, barely any relief either, but it's the only outlet he can see, the only way to be rid of this fear, this _wrath_ that's eating its way through all of his defenses.

Jacob wipes his bloodied hands on his jeans. Reality around him settles into place once again, still as shitty and hopeless as it was before he switched off. It's hard work to reign himself in, but ultimately, the right choice. Beating Peaches to death is not going to fix this mess, and the bitter satisfaction each punch brings is hardly worth his effort or time. God knows, he'd wasted enough time already.

He stops the first guard he encounters, and instructs him to collect Pratt and deliver him safely to the bunker, to make sure he gets the necessary medical attention. Someone will be there shortly to see to Pratt's further punishment, Jacob promises the man, and takes a short detour to his office before setting out for a rescue mission. It's easy enough to determine which truck the deputy had landed on. Of all the teams that are out on their respective missions, only one doesn't respond to his radio call.

Tracking it is a different matter entirely, but with a vague idea as to where the truck was supposed to be headed, and the time that passed since it departed, Jacob triangulates an approximate location, takes the first available car, and covers the distance separating him and his goal within minutes.

He can't take her back to Veterans Center. He can't risk another incident like this, and that's if he even manages to find her in time. He's willing to fucking chain her to his person, to make sure she stays where she's supposed to until the time is right for her to fulfill her purpose.

Jacob finds the truck off the road, crashed by some campsite. His men are dead, predictably, what with Rook being freshly out of her training session, the carnage around the crash site telling Jacob quite a tale. Maybe he'd overreacted, she can certainly fend for herself, can hold her own in a fight regardless of her condition. He barely starts to second-guess himself and the true scale of this perceived disaster, when he notices she's still nowhere to be found, and the wrath and the panic creep right back in, pushing every rational thought from his mind once again.

_You're in love with me_ , her words echo, falling around him together with the leaves off the trees. _You're in love with me_ , the wind whispers, in the same accusatory way, stinging his skin with its icy cold. _You're in love with me_ , her scent lingers in the air, and Jacob follows it, the smell of blood and gunpowder, and _promise_.

He will level the fucking mountains to get her back.

This entire region has dodged a fucking bullet this day, he thinks, as he looks at her huddled form, leaning against a moss-covered log. There's no one for miles, no one to judge him, so he sprints towards her with clear conscience. Her breathing is ragged, and her pulse is faint, she's so cold and weak her body doesn't even have the energy to shiver anymore.

But she is alive, and the rest is in Jacob's power to fix. 

He is _weak_ , Jacob realizes as he's carrying her in his arms to the car. He is weak, while she keeps surviving, persevering _, triumphing_ through whatever he throws at her, and God knows, he gave it all he got. He has nothing left for her, hell, he doesn't even have anything to give to his Family. Not after this night. Not after _her_.

Rook is strong, and now, because of her, he finally understands just how weak _he_ is.

And Jacob knows what happens to the weak.

 


	20. Whatever Happened To Spotter Miller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Why not, let's have ourselves a party!

 

It’s easy to let go, Rook thinks. It's easy to give in to the warmth and comfort calling her name, whispering, tempting her to just _stop_ , stop fighting, stop running, stop all of this silly nonsense and just _rest_ , for once. So she stops. It doesn't even matter how far she managed to make it, because it's pretty damn clear now she's not going _anywhere_.

It's easy.

Rook is amazed at herself as to how she'd even had the strength to fight this long. Fight herself, fight this stupid fucking useless war, fight Jacob. This newfound freedom and clarity warm her, and she lets them, leaning against a fallen log, and while she's pretty sure she should feel its damp cold clinging to her, she feels _nothing_ , and it's incredible.

An approaching rustling of leaves almost manages to get her attention, but she dismisses it as insignificant, despite how urgent the sound is. No matter what it is, be it a mountain lion, a bear, an entire squad of Peggies, or even God himself, she doesn't care one way or another, and she's ready for whatever comes her way.

Rook is ready to leave this garbage existence behind her, she's ready to die, but being carried away in Jacob’s arms is easy too. So she lets him.

She drifts in and out of sleep, first while pressed against his chest, then in the car, wrapped in a blanket, and then again as he carries her the remaining distance to the cabin. It's quite lovely, actually, he's radiating warmth and safety and comfort, and maybe she doesn't have to go just yet, maybe there's something else to be gained in this life.

Doesn't mean she's gonna make it that simple for him.

He places her in his own bed, gives her a stern look, _don’t do anything stupid this time_ , and leaves.

When he comes back, he’s carrying a tray, which he promptly deposits on the nightstand beside her.

At first, Rook stares at it in bewildered silence. It's all very nice, really. A soup of some kind, thick and savory, judging by the smell. It's tempting and inviting her, and for a second, she's grateful for her immeasurable exhaustion. Otherwise, it'd be much harder to resist. To prove her point.

She does make use of the glass of water provided for her, if only so she's able to speak.

"Y'know, this whole carrot and stick approach of yours is getting real old, real fast," she tells him. "Fucking one-man good cop slash bad cop routine. Can't be healthy for you."

Jacob doesn't speak, because of course he doesn't, heaven forbid he actually addresses anything important that would make him feel _feelings._ He just glares at her, patience evidently wearing thin, jaw clenched.

Then, Rook laughs. She can't stop herself, even though it's painful, and she's struggling for air, but all of this is just too goddamn _funny_.

"What _now_?" Jacob finally caves, irritation intermingled with concern spurring her into another bout of laughter.

"Oh, nothing," she gasps, writhing in throes of what she recognizes as starvation-induced hysteria." Just wondering what mystery meat is in this soup. Is it the last of Miller? Or is it the remainders of your bullshit story?"

"I _told_ you what happened to Miller."

"Yeah, except you _lied_. Tell the truth or," she reclines back against the pillows, less dramatically than she would've liked to, and pointedly ignores the food offered to her. "Watch me starve to death."

"Don't care if you didn't like it, dep." He sighs and sits down on the bed with her. Rook instinctively pulls her knees up to make space for him. "That was the fuckin' truth."

"Was it? How is it that two trained soldiers - young men in peak physical condition, mind you - couldn't walk two hundred clicks in _eight days_? I know infantry standards don't apply to you, but still - twelve miles in three hours is the bare minimum. If my math is right - and I know it is - that makes for a total of, what? Thirty-one, thirty-two hours of walking."

"Not in a desert," Jacob says, voice entirely devoid of any feeling.

"No, not in a desert. You're right. A loaded march in a desert would take much longer. Except… It wasn't a _loaded_ march, was it, Jacob? You lost your equipment in the ambush. You were travelling light."

"We got lost." The same robotic, emotionless tone. It sounds like something he's been repeating over and over, a rehearsed line he'd almost learned to believe.

"Unless you two were walking in a fucking circle for a straight week, there's no way you haven't encountered any civilized life. I've _been_ there. And you're not _that_ bad with directions. There's no fucking way you didn't make it to the base, or, at the very least, found a way to call for help."

"We were dehydrated." There's an edge of desperation to these words, a plea to be believed. "You know what that’s like. Difficult to think. _Disoriented_."

"You ran out of water only by day _six_. Listen, I did the math, okay? I had nothing better to do in that damned forest but wait for inevitable sweet release of death and think about you and your stupid-ass story. You had your canteens on you after the ambush, but not the rest of your stuff. Not your map. Not your radio. What the fuck was your radio doing in your pack?"

"This some kind of interrogation, deputy? 'Cause lemme tell you, you ain't in no position to-"

"And then," Rook presses on, high on the feeling of being right as well as on the sensation of hunger, "Miller's legs get fucked up, and you two are about to be mauled by wolves. There is no prey for you to hunt to feed yourselves, and no water for miles, but there's _wolves._ Surviving on what, exactly, prior to your appearance in their desert?"

Silence is worth more to Rook than any words he could've said.

"So, then you kill and _eat_ Miller, and suddenly you’re able to not only fend off a pack of wolves on your own, but also somehow magically survive long enough to get rescued. Despite starvation. Despite dehydration. Despite being lost. Despite being injured, I suppose, by said wolves."

Jacob screws his eyes shut, nostrils flaring in what Rook initially thinks to be rage, but quickly recognizes as fear. Inspired, she drives the point home:

"By the way, last time I checked, Jacob, those scars look _nothing_ like wolf bite marks."

"What the _fuck_ do you want me to tell you?!"

"I dunno," she shrugs. "Could start with admitting that Miller's death had fuck all to do with you getting peckish."

With a deep, suffering, drawn-out sigh, he opens his eyes again.

"Okay."

"Okay? So you admit that?"

"Yeah," he says, and while it doesn't seem like he's lying, his tone is too smooth, he agrees too easily. "You gonna eat now?"

She looks him dead in the eye, and takes a spoonful. No more, no less.

It's pretty clear what really happened there. It's obvious to Rook, but, she suspects, not to Jacob himself. There is a damn good reason he'd invented this fairytale of his, fucked up as it may be. Whatever it is he's been trying to protect himself from all these years is bound to catch up with him sooner rather than later. And when it does… Man. Rook knows what _that_ feels like.

"How long have you two been in that cage?" She makes a wild shot. Wild, but educated.

"Long enough."

"Was Miller dead when you left?"

"I didn't stop to check," Jacob says, dismissively. "Just assumed he would be, sooner or later. Could still hear him calling, as I crawled my way out. At the base, and then at the hospital. And home. Just… Calling my name.” He gives her a sharp look then, a sneer, “If you're deluding yourself about me carrying this guilt and grief about leaving him behind, _don't_. I had no compunctions about letting him die there. I didn't have to, but it sure made it a hell of a lot easier for me."

"I know what you're gonna say," Rook interjects, taking another spoonful. "He was weak. You were strong. He couldn't have made it. You did what you had to do." Jacob looks at her with a curious frown. "And it's true, you know. Better one of you got out than neither. I know what happens to captive marksmen."

After a moment of deliberation, she continues.

"I'm not deluding myself into anything, Jacob. Your guilt is dripping off of you. But you made the best call you could, and the rest is not your fault."

When no reply follows, she continues eating, slowly and with patience. Jacob seems to have tagged out, her words must've ticked him off, but she gets the feeling he’s thinking. By now she's familiar with the way his face walls up when things get uncomfortable.

"So," putting the spoon aside, she chooses her words carefully, a tone one might use to lure a wounded animal, "Miller died a prisoner?"

Jacob doesn't respond immediately. He just stares ahead, deep into the vast forest behind the window, without seeing anything. Rook doesn't know what else to say, so she lets silence fall between them. It’s not an unpleasant one. She's exhausted, but comfortable, and despite everything, reluctantly _relieved_ to be with him again. There’s no cord between them, tense and threatening to snap any moment. Instead, there’s a safe serenity, an understanding. No wonder she never managed to leave for good.

"Miller died…" Jacob's voice catches in his throat for a moment, "home. Got himself rescued like a fuckin' damsel, got a hero's welcome… Didn't change a fuckin' thing."

Jacob looks at her, awaiting her judgment. Rook studies him, looking for anything else beyond that, but there's nothing. A cold, empty void.

He turns away, unable to face her.

Rook knows that feeling. Back in the day, after what happened with the Bureau, she couldn't either. Hell, on bad days she still can't.

"He shot himself," he finally says.

"Lucky bastard," Rook tries to stop herself, but her thoughts seem to have a life of their own, marching out of her mouth, a spectacular monument to social inadequacy.

Jacob freezes, just for a second, a wide array of emotions circling through him in quick succession, before finally settling on one.

He laughs. 

"What?" Rook asks, "It's true. At least he's not here to see all of… this." She gestures vaguely towards the window, towards the world behind it, a world that is going to shit as they speak. She doesn't have to ask, and Jacob doesn't have to tell her - Miller's suicide is not his fault, even though it feels like it is, like a final time he'd failed his friend.

"Hell, dep. You need some serious fuckin' help, and that’s coming from _me_."

"I know," she says, licking the bowl clean. "But I need some fucking sleep _right now_ , and I solemnly swear to consider therapy. But only if you will."

He snorts and gets up to leave.

"G'night, deputy."

_Fuck this,_ Rook thinks. She's had it with his pushing and pulling, with his emotional constipation. If she can't have the peaceful release of death, at least she's gonna try to get the next best thing. And if it falls to her to say it, those words that he couldn't speak way back then, the words that have been lingering between them for weeks now, then she'll be the strong one.

"Stay," she says, and his gaze snaps back to her. She holds it, fearless, inspired by the lack of resistance she finds there. " _Please_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Ubisoft, but that Miller story is just absurd. Nuh-uh. Not buying it.


	21. Lock And Load

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut. If it's not your cup of tea, you can skip it and the story will be affected only minimally.

 

 

Jacob stays. 

It's simply not working. Trying to scare her away, keep her at an arm's length, while still making sure his job is done and done well, is plain impossible. He can blame her for it as much as he likes, but he knew what he signed up for. Joseph knew. Jacob was told to tread cautiously around her, make the right choices, and yet here he is, lumbering right into trouble like a fucking idiot. Willingly, too.

This is beyond being simply invested, this is dedication, this is _caring_. This is a choice he's actively making, because the alternative means he has to keep trying to escape her, and Jacob isn't in a habit of pursuing lost causes.

The story about Miller had accomplished nothing, other than making her question and doubt, and eventually figure the truth out on her own. Sure, the deputy wanted him to admit it, but she'd put the pieces together long before that. Jacob doesn't regret telling her. It doesn't necessarily make for a burden halved, but at least now he has nothing to hide from her.

Well. _Almost_ nothing.

He meets her gaze, and holds it as he shrugs off his jacket. It's a challenge: one wrong look, one flinch, one involuntary twitch in her face, and this little experiment is _over_.  Except, there's none of that. She looks at him intently, eyes wide, a small smile on her lips. He gives her the last stern stare, a warning, and in response, she makes an impatient half shrug-half nod.

Jacob is aware of holding his breath when he lifts his arms and pulls off the shirt. Dog tags and keys fall against his chest, and he keeps them on - if she manages to make off with them after what she's just been through, she certainly deserves to keep them.

"I appreciate the show," her voice draws him back to reality, "but do hurry up."

Jacob grits his teeth and faces her as he unbuckles his belt. Exhaustion is battling with arousal on Rook's face, and he finds himself smiling at her. Stripping down to his underwear, he crawls into the bed behind her. She stretches her arm out from under the covers, switches off the light, and turns her back to him.

He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close. Jacob barely suppresses a groan when her skin is flush against his. God, he's completely forgotten what this _felt_ like. He takes deep, slow breaths, savoring the closeness. It only takes a couple of minutes until Rook, relentless fucker that she is, pushes her ass against him, and this time he can't keep quiet, even though it serves nothing but encourage her. His heart fucking _soars_ , and he wants to cave in desperately, but he can't afford to throw _all_ the caution out the window at once.

"Easy, dep," Jacob keeps her steady with his arm, face buried in her hair. "Give it a rest. You nearly fuckin' died."

In response, she struggles in his grasp, evidently intending to turn around, but he doesn't let her.

"I said, _knock it off_."

"You're no fun," she grumbles at him, tiredness winning over.

"Sleep," Jacob commands her, and she obeys. He holds her until her body relaxes, breathing slows and evens out. The hand holding on to him slackens, a firm grasp makes way for a bare touch, and Jacob kisses her temple before carefully disentangling himself from her.

When he finally wakes up, the sun is already making its way towards the horizon, throwing a gentle orange autumn hue across the floorboards through dusty white curtains. Gasping for air, he throws off the blanket, stirring a dazed deputy from her sleep. Jerking from his bed in an attempt to get the hell away, Jacob almost stumbles over her.

Instinctively, he stops himself from biting his clenched fist, a scream stuck in his throat. He needs to get his shit together, establish that he is in control, _strong_. On shaky legs, he makes it out of the bed, leaning on the window sill, head pressed against the glass.

Breathe in, breathe out, Jacob repeats his mantra, only managing to breathe in.

It’s all _wrong_. He needs to get a hold of himself. Control. Control his breathing.

The sounds in his immediate vicinity are, still, all familiar and accounted for. Same thin branch scratching against the window. Embers in the fireplace died hours ago, downstairs is blissfully quiet. Wind howls in the distance, rustling the trees, and then he hears it. A faint voice carried his way across countries, across eons. _No_ , Jacob steels himself. It can’t be like that. He’s past this. Miller's words have no place, they have no _right_ to spill out from his nightmares.

Breathe in. Hold it. _Hold it._

"Jacob?"

His eyes snap to the source of the voice, a _threat_ in his bed, and his hand closes around the stranger's throat almost on its own volition, in a split second it takes him to cover the distance between the window and the threat.

"Jacob" it says, "it's me. It’s me!"

As if that should mean something to him. It struggles against Jacob's grip, slender fingers creeping underneath his. At the same time, their cage rattles – Jacob has told Miller to stop that, knock it the fuck off _or else._ Shoulda listened, because in a moment, Miller begs Jacob to take him with, and he leaves without looking back.  

"Jacob, _please_ ," she chokes out, her eyes slowly rolling back, turning glossy. “Jake,” her voice is stern, as much as it can be, given the circumstances. “ _Jake!_ ”

Jacob freezes. He relaxes his hold on her enough for her to speak, but she doesn't. Instead, grey eyes stare into his, puzzled, but fearless.

Jacob lets go of deputy's throat and collapses back onto the bed.

"What's the time?" He asks after a while.

She doesn't say anything, instead rubbing her throat, now bearing imprints of his fingers. It's sure to bruise, sooner rather than later. Jacob looks away, bracing for incoming crying, suffocating concern and pity. Or, maybe, she's gonna try to murder him now, which, honestly, is just as well.

He’s caught completely by surprise when she does neither, lunging for him and knocking him over on his back instead.

Straddling him, knees locked around his sides, Rook straightens her back, looking down at him, taking in the view before her. There's a smirk on her lips, so out of place _, which part of that set you off like this,_ Jacob tries to speak, words slipping from his mind as fast as they come at the sight of her.

"Shoulda told me you like it rough," Rook sweeps a loose strand of hair behind her ear and leans over him. "Here I’ve been, all this time," her voice now a hoarse whisper, interrupted only as her lips hover over his, "playing _nice_."

Fed up with his inaction, she grasps his hand, placing it firmly on her waist. Jacob can’t help it, his hand trailing down and under her shirt. Eyes half-closed, Rook gives a little hum of appreciation as he explores her body, tracing her ribs. She gasps when he cups her breast, and Jacob takes the chance, finally, pulling her into a slow, thorough kiss.

She rolls her hips, returning the kiss and he grinds against her, drawing her closer. Rook moans, pulling away for air, and smiles at him, eyes wild, excited. Jacob feels inspired to take initiative, rising to embrace her, but she puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back down, giving him an incredulous look when her efforts don't yield any results. She meets his eyes, wicked grin spreading across her face.

" _At ease_."

 _What the hell_ , he thinks, and lets her.

If she wants proof that he's strong enough to not back out, he's gonna give it to her.

He doesn't have time to reply even if he wanted to, as Rook cards her fingers through his beard, up the grown-out stubble on the side of his head, tangling in the long strands. Her hand tugging, perhaps less than gently, pulling his head back, teeth scraping the skin of his exposed throat, and then wet lips are making their way down his neck, then his chest, over the raised scars, and lower still. She only looks back at him once, to show off a wolfish grin when she finds his lust tattoo, and then he can feel the warm breath through the fabric of his boxers, making him raise his hips off the bed, bucking with anticipation. A foolish, ecstatic smile spreads across Jacob. As if he wasn't already hard enough. Jacob feels consumed, as Rook pulls down his boxers, planting kisses along his hips on her way.

It’s not like he remained chaste since joining Joseph's good flock. There was a time when the Family was smaller, less serious and strict, with plenty of small things here and there. He _had_ plenty. But now… For the first time in – ever - Jacob realizes, no one is being _had_. No one is being used.

Rook doesn't leave much time for anxious thoughts to fester, though, no time for him to build walls and close off whatever it is that makes this _, them_ , so _intense_. He reaches down to grab onto her hair, but she swats his hand away, and soon enough Jacob is reduced to nothing but the aching longing, as she her lips reach the base of his dick. A swirl of her tongue, and she has to hold him down as he groans and bucks again, gasping unintentionally, when she lets him go and comes up for air. He looks down at her and can’t help but grin at her, at his own reaction. Rook smiles back at him, licking her lips.

"Oh yeah, keep up that stoic warrior act," she says. "Just means hearing you come apart gonna be that much more satisfying."

He jerks his chin at her _, come here_ , he commands her wordlessly. She does, slowly, _too slowly_ , for Jacob's liking, so he pulls her up. He kisses her, short and demanding, before sliding his hands back under her shirt, removing it as Rook helpfully lifts her arms. Seizing the opportunity, Jacob hooks his arm around her waist and rolls them over, pressing her into the bed. He doesn't let her wriggle out of his grasp as he removes her soaked underwear, making sure to drag his fingertips along her inner thigh on his way up.

"I _don't,_ actually, like it rough," Jacob rumbles at her, tracing lines and circles with his finger, ghosting over, but not quite delving in just yet. "You gonna get it sweet and _loving_."

He can only assume Rook's about to disagree or say something incredibly clever, but he doesn't give her the chance, pushing himself into her. Giving as good as he got, Jacob bites her neck. He alternates between long slow thrusts and quick jabs, he is a patient man, if nothing else, and if he's about to doom them both, might as well take his sweet time with it. He relents only as he finds _the_ spot, rubbing her clit at the same time, and watches Rook unravel.

Feeling pressure building, Jacob pulls back, almost instinctively, but she wraps her legs around him and pulls him closer as she arches her back.

"'S all taken care of," she manages to say, and they ride out the wave together. Rook was right, he can’t keep his pleasure a secret, and she _does_ look thoroughly satisfied with that.

Jacob kisses her afterwards, just like he'd imagined, and it feels just as bittersweet as he thought it would.

Staring at the ceiling, he can only hope that his own momentary happiness doesn't come at too high a cost when the bill comes due.

 


	22. Acts 20:24-25

 

 

It's easier the second time around.

Jacob lets her come to him, lets her imagine she's sneaking up on him, lets her wrap her arms around him.

When he turns towards her, he doesn't break the embrace. Rook doesn't quite expect it to be this easy, and neither does he when he leans down to kiss her. Their bodies fit perfectly together, wherever they may be, it seems, because while fucking anyone on the kitchen counter has never been a particularly appealing idea, it's different now.

And then it's all downhill from there.

This second ceasefire of theirs is everything he expected it to be, and yet… The easier it gets to let her in, he figures, the worse it's gonna be when the time comes to cut her loose.

So he doesn't. Jacob bides his time, God knows he's good at it, and lets that time be filled with _her._ With long evenings by the fireplace, with a hunting trip, with laughing at her stupid jokes. With letting her sleep in late every morning - she needs her rest, she's more than deserved it, and he sleeps well enough with her by his side anyway, so he doesn't mind getting up early.

A part of him doesn't mind at all that he bides his time each morning by cooking her breakfast.

It’s the smell, Jacob nods to himself, definitely the smell he loves the most. There's something about it - about cooking in general - how it brings him back to those rare moments in his childhood, the ones that were actually _good._ Their parents, out of the house, John tugging at his shirt with those hungry eyes, Joseph trying and failing to figure out what to do, and then Jacob cleaning up after Joseph's attempts before they get punished for it. He'd make food for them then, and it made them happy, and it made Jacob happy too - being useful, being _strong_.

Memories Jacob hasn't spared a thought in _years_ come creeping back to him. He taught himself these things long before most kids his age even thought it was something they might be able to do themselves. Hell, John, a grown-ass man, still orders food, has people actually make it _for_ him. Such a lack of self-sufficiency feels completely foreign to Jacob. But it was something _he_ had to learn. Not like anybody else would do it for _him_.  With Mom and Dad, it was far more likely to receive a beating, verbal or otherwise. And words haven’t filled bellies at any point in history. Belt buckles and knuckle sandwiches - even less so.

A notion almost sneaks up on him, more of an admittance, really, and it’s so inane he needs to say it out loud to even comprehend. Jacob pauses, puts the knife down and speaks into the empty kitchen, tasting his words.

"I taught myself to survive, before I taught myself to fight." No. Doesn't ring true. He tries again. "I had to teach myself to cook, otherwise my family would die."

It’s so fucking silly he snorts, holding back laughter. But it's no less true. Sure, Dad might have had his own shortcomings, but he still hit harder and stronger than Jacob possibly could, then. So instead, Jacob cooked. He protected and provided, best as he could. Planning, preparing, and waiting for that one day when he would have the strength to do what had to be done.

No, Jacob decides, it's the planning that he enjoys the most. Planning can take days, even weeks, depending on the end goal. Which tools to use, always keeping the target in mind, as to suit their needs. Preparing, coordinating when to let things simmer, and when to set the whole fucking place on fire.

The happiest memory of his youth brings Jacob that last bit of inspiration, and then he's finished. His execution is flawless, as always. It's a classic, just like in movies. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toasted slices of home baked bread, all of it topped with a jug of orange juice and a cup of tea, brewed just how she likes it.

If this could sate three starved kids, then it would surely satisfy his deputy.

He thinks the words before he's even aware. They feel so natural now, and a deep, sinking feeling settles in his chest. All he needs is the eleven apostles to come knocking and the scene would be complete. He's yet to receive payment from any Romans, though.

 _John orders his food._ Countless Family dinners, and Jacob hasn't made food for them in ages.

The fuck is he doing here?

Joseph had told him he needed him, but there's nothing Jacob can do that Rook couldn't do better. Maybe that's what the Voice told Joseph, after all. Maybe that’s why he’d whisked Jacob away into the mountains, to train an army for him, so that his redundant brother could finally feel like he had a purpose. Not like Jacob's presence in their lives is strictly _necessary_ at this point. 

It wasn't before Rook he realized that whatever it was he felt before, it wasn't a purpose. It was a _distraction_. Training his army had only felt fulfilling by sheer virtue of distracting him from the rattling cages and restless voices calling his name, recounting his failings, night after night.

God, why is he even here anymore? John and Joseph can feed themselves, hell, they can surely fight their own battles. They at least know how to pick them, now, if anything. And if not, he'd made the perfect commander for them, a perfect _protector_ , one that wouldn't get distracted, one that wouldn't shift priorities on a fucking whim.

Sometimes he'd found himself doubting whether he really _made_ her or simply just used something, already perfect, for his own selfish gains. And she is perfect, in so many ways he is not. This realization is bittersweet, but it sure makes it easier to accept what needs to be done, and to stand up for it no matter what.

Rook is holding the music box in her hands when Jacob returns to the bedroom, tray in hand. Thoughtful, she traces the lines and cracks in the wood, carefully, as if it could bite her at any moment.

"You go digging through my shit," Jacob says, quietly setting her meal on the nightstand, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice, "you're bound to find something you don't like. No point being mad about it."

When Rook finally looks up at him, she doesn't look quite as furious as he'd imagined, and nowhere near as surprised as he'd hoped. Instead, there's an air of lazy anticipation, like a cat stretching on a sunny window sill.

"I'm not _mad_ , Jacob," she purrs, because of course she does. Everything is a fucking joke to her. "I'm just disappointed."

"Mm. I'm sure I'll survive that."

Taking a deep breath, she does her best to project calmness. She tosses the box from one hand to the other, a careless, playful gesture to an outside observer, but there's a sharpness to her movements, her nostrils flaring, betraying her anxiety, her anger.

"If you wanna break it, knock yourself out. I'm not gonna stop you."

Frowning, Rook narrows her eyes, as if aiming to throw the damned thing across the room. Jacob can't even begin to imagine the liberation this option would bring.

"Of course not," she laughs, and he hates the way it sounds now, so bitter and hollow. "Why would you? You probably have hundreds of these things anyway."

"Yup," he admits, taking a step closer. There's no point in lying. If she breaks this one, there'll be another, except then it'll be a hell of a lot easier to follow through with the plan. "Just thought that would make you feel better."

" _Only you_ , my ass," she snorts, reading the words on the inside of the lid. "You sure know how to make a girl feel special."

Jacob decides this line of reasoning doesn't deserve a comment.

"When were you going to use it?"

"At some point," he shrugs noncommittally, and lies: "sooner rather than later."

Rook says nothing, and Jacob extends his hand towards her.

"You think you're ready now, soldier?"

She grips the box tight, so tight her knuckles turn white, communicating clearly that she has no intention of giving it back to him. She's gonna ask for more time, Jacob thinks, or beg to reconsider, to let her go, set her _free_.

Instead, she walks up close to him, resting her head on his chest. Almost reflexively, he pulls her closer, a comforting hand on her head holding her close.

Her breath is warm against his chest.

"Promise me this is the last time," she says, and it does not sound like a plea. Not even a demand. It sounds like she's setting conditions, as if they were two equals discussing a mutually beneficial agreement, and Jacob humors her, because at this point, it's only fair. "Promise this is the last fucking thing I have to do." 

"I promise." He means it. It's easy. He doesn't even have to lie.

"Do you swear I'll see you again after this is through?"

Jacob pulls her away, holding her by the shoulders.

"I swear," he says.

Rook frees herself of his grip, and takes a step back. She winds up the music box herself.

Jacob is proud of her. There's no way it's easy, to willingly subject herself to the torture anybody else would do anything to avoid. Rook is scared, fucking _terrified,_ she keeps her eyes on him, her breathing getting more erratic with every turn of the key.

He doesn't look away. It's the least he can do for her now.

Rook opens the lid, the box facing her, but she doesn't look at it. Instead, making use of the last seconds of sanity she has left, she smiles at him. It's good to see that his brave, strong, beautiful Rook is still a fucking idiot. There's absolutely fuck all to be smiling about at this point.

"If you think this has a happy ending," he tells her when he's sure the process cannot be stopped anymore, that she can't go back on her word, "you haven't been paying attention."

She doesn't close the box. She doesn't stop smiling either.

Jacob can see her lips move, mouthing words he can't quite decipher. Their possible meaning haunts him long after Rook's eyes turn glassy and distant, long after she drops the music box and _runs_.

In the end, Jacob decides, it doesn't matter whether it was _see you soon_ or _I love you_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acts 20:24-25, KJV, as follows:
> 
> "But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry, which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God. And now, behold, I know that ye all, among whom I have gone preaching the kingdom of God, shall see my face no more."


	23. Only You

 

Halfway through the usual bunker training course Rook gets an overwhelming feeling that something is seriously _off_.

The realism of the simulated combat seems to have been upgraded dramatically, and she can't quite figure out how'd that happen. Is it because the actual training grounds are no longer necessary for her to run the course? Just the music box, the familiar trigger, and now her imagination completes the setting in a much greater detail than the previous simulations could ever achieve. She even recognizes some of the familiar faces she'd seen around in the Militia HQ. Just like the faceless mannequins that came before, they all fall to the ground. 

The identical recreations of real people seem a little too perfect when she's mowing them down - screaming, and bleeding, and _dying_.

She doesn't pause to make sure that they are, in fact, dead, but just that nobody is vanishing in a puff of smoke anymore is pretty damn telling.

Fucking _finally_.

We ain't in Kansas anymore, she thinks, and continues pressing on through the Wolf's Den. She's not sure she could stop, even if she wanted to. Her body screams _go_ , and her heart soars, as always, with the intoxicating exhilaration of the fight. She knows there'll be hell to pay afterwards - there always is, and this time it's bound to be worse than ever, since now there are real consequences to her actions, and an exponentially growing body count. She should probably feel bad right about now, since it appears the cognitive functions and the power of independent thought have been restored to her.

But she doesn't. She has no compunctions about killing every single person in the bunker - well, maybe except for Wheaty, but only cause he's a fucking _kid_ \- everyone who stands between her and her final target.

She'd figured out her so-called _purpose_ long ago, pieced it together from whatever fragmented memories she retained of her time in the red training room. The layout of the place and the locations of the enemies, all becoming more and more familiar with each training session. And with each visit to the Wolf's Den.

Rook can't decide whether it's a monument to Jacob's impeccable strategic thinking or no less spectacular cowardice. Getting her to do what he can't. It's not like he doesn't know where to find Eli, not like he couldn't just take the bunker by force at any given point. No, it has to be her, and while Rook might have her own feelings about it, it makes sense.

At least this way Jacob won't have another friend's death on his conscience.

Rook is glad to spare him that pain, now that she thinks about it. Especially since it's no skin off her back. Eli never really did anything to make himself particularly dear to her.

She can almost taste the freedom as she sprints the last couple of feet towards her purpose. One more kill, and the cord tying her to Jacob is going to snap, releasing her from his control permanently. Just one more hoop to jump through, and maybe, just maybe, he will actually see her for the person she is instead of a tool to be used. She will do what needs to be done _, cull the fucking herd_ , and shake off the remnants of the power he holds over her.

Rook pulls the trigger and watches the surprise frozen permanently in Eli's eyes as he's falling backwards, dead.

She holds her breath. Here it is. Freedom.

Except, he never actually makes it to the ground. Time slows and slows and then inevitably stops entirely, the reality and the mindfuckery swirling around her, overlapping and superimposing over each other to the point of making her nauseous. She was so sure she'd figured it out, broke the conditioning, salvaged her sanity, but now she hears Jacob's voice, and he's fucking _singing_.

Fuck.

It was never going to be this easy, was it?

He smiles at her, and lowers her weapon with one finger, confident to the point of arrogance. He laughs, softly, at her inaction, and steps towards Eli, inspecting her work.

"Hey," he tells her, his tone conversational, lighthearted, "only you could've gotten this close. Only _you_ could've earned this kind of trust."

What fucking _trust_ , she wonders, it's not like Jacob ever trusted her about anything. Eli's trust? Plenty of people had earned _that_. There's absolutely nothing about this whole situation that makes her special, nothing that couldn't have been accomplished by literally anybody else.

"It was always only ever you," Jacob assures her, as if having heard her thoughts.

_It's all in your head_ , Rook tells herself. He's not actually here. It's just the finishing touch of her brainwashing, a little bit he couldn't help himself but to include. Just parting words, the last chance to gloat, to show her how easy it had been to manipulate her. A desperate attempt to establish he's in control.

It's like he doesn't understand he doesn't need to do that shit with her. She would have done all this, and more, if he'd just asked her, showed her some trust and fucking _honesty_. If he'd just let her in.

"Good work. You did it. You passed your test." Jacob nods at her, and something about how he says it fills Rook with overwhelming feeling of inevitable doom. "Now, make your sacrifice."

Icy dread settles low in her stomach. Fucking _liar._

"But from here on out… you're alone _._ And there's _weakness_ around you. And we know what happens to the weak. " _No,_ she thinks, no fucking way. This is not happening. He fucking _promised._

Jacob smiles at her, one last time, and there's nothing warm in that smile.

"We cull the herd, it's what we do. I'll be outside, waiting for you…"

He's humming that damned fucking song as he leaves her there, alone, and she's still reeling when suddenly there's people, movement, and shouting all around her. There's Tammy and Wheaty, the latter doing his best to try and kill her, while the former is trying to dissuade him of the notion. There's Eli's body, right where it's supposed to be.

Tammy keeps talking at her, and Wheaty keeps crying in her general direction, and Rook does her best to ignore them, in a futile attempt to clear her head, quell the rising nausea and the rapidly worsening headache.

"…Or next time I see you," Tammy's tone is sharp and demanding Rook's attention, impossible to ignore. "So help me God. I'll kill you myself."

The red fog still clouds the edges of her vision, and it's all the justification, the only excuse Rook needs. Raising the same gun she'd just used to kill Eli, she shoots again, with even less hesitation than before.

Oh man. She should've done this _ages_ ago.

Even while high with satisfaction, Rook still notices Wheaty reach for the gun Tammy had taken from him, and kicks it away and out of his reach before he can do anything stupid.The kid looks terrified, heartbroken, _betrayed_. Full of grim determination nonetheless, he makes a move, as if to tackle her.

"It's alright, kid," she tells him, "I'm okay now, I swear. Murderous rage over this time, for realsies."

He looks like he still fully intends to kill her at the first possible opportunity, and honestly, it's adorable. But right now, he's standing between her and freedom, and she has no time for pleasantries.

"I could've killed you, too," Rook says, and realizes she'd never spoken this many consecutive sentences to Wheaty before. "But so far, I've been choosing not to. Think on _that_."

She pats him on the shoulder on her way out.

"No need to thank me or anything. Praise be to deputy Rook and all that jazz."

Nobody dares to stop her, afterwards.

"Ah… About time you came out." Jacob's voice greets her as she's taking in the view around her. For a split second she thinks that the world has finally ended. But, she supposes, that would be too easy. "Thought I'd have to come and get ya… was worried you'd turn soft on me. But you're a soldier, you'll do what you're told."

Like hell she will.

A bullet zips right past her, and even without looking for the shooter, Rook knows it's him. She runs for cover, instinctively, finding a large rock to crouch behind. The sniper fire doesn't cease. Deliberate and evenly paced, unlike the hectic, desperate shots fired by the Peggies around her. It's idiotic, she thinks, this waste of ammo, there's no way he hasn't seen her duck. She focuses her attention on the actual threats, swiftly eliminating Jacob's men in her immediate vicinity. She gets out from behind the rock then, and stands in the open, arms spread, head raised high.

The shots from the top of the mountain keep coming, steady like a heartbeat. One after another, every single one of them - a miss.

So, he doesn't have the balls to come and greet her, thank her for a job well done, offer to ride off into the sunset together.

He doesn't have the balls to kill her, either.

_Fine_ , Rook thinks. If he can't make a decision, then she'll make one for him.

She deliberately ignores the music towers, the people shooting at her, the wolves surrounding her, and books it the fuck out of there. The region appears to be on fucking fire, and that's all fine by her.

"Don't fight it. C'mere. Serve your purpose."

There was a path out through the mountains that looked like it had potential, she remembers stumbling upon it weeks ago, and Rook makes for it now. It's high time to let this shithole burn, with or without Jacob.

Hell, he'd probably actually enjoy that.

"Let's say you get out of here. What's next? You go back to running errands for a country that couldn't give two shits about you? Back to a world that's gonna collapse in on itself, and swallow you with it? You mean _nothing_ out there. Think of all you've achieved here. Think of all you could _become_."

She decides not to dignify that with a response.

"The wolves are all around you," Jacob says then, and sure enough, they are.

Without turning around, Rook can hear their growls, feel their breath. She hates killing any non-prey animals, and wolves in particular. There's a certain terrifying beauty to them, as well as a relatable desperation and perseverance, so she usually leaves them be if at all possible. She books it, and sooner than later, they stop following. Judges have that tendency, she'd noticed, ignore them for long enough, and eventually they just lose interest, leave her be.

All except one.

Hot on her heels, a lone wolf doesn't back off. A true persistence predator, it keeps up the pursuit, despite being smaller than her, despite being alone against her. Rook is an excellent runner, but even she can't keep up the feat of outrunning a wolf for long. First sign of weakness on Rook's part, and the beast pounces at her. It's not a Judge, she notices immediately, as it knocks her over. Just a regular wolf, young and healthy, if a bit small compared to its peers.

Rook smacks the animal in the snout, and it recoils with a whine, far enough for her to have just enough time to reach for her pistol, and shoot as it resumes the attack.

It explodes in green smoke, and then, Faith is standing in front of her.

_Oh come on._ Not the best time for a fucking family reunion.

Rook gets back up on her feet, and tells Faith exactly that.

"You disappoint me, sister." Faith ignores her words, expression scornful. "I asked you to be cautious. I asked you to _not_ hurt him again."

_Not your fucking sister_ , Rook thinks, and watches Faith quirk her eyebrow at that.

"Look around you," Rook says, instead. "He can hurt himself just fine, no actions on my part necessary."

"I asked you to _help_ him."

"Mm, pretty sure you didn't." Rook breaks into a jog again, hoping that Faith's astral projection skills don't extend to running. "And hey, I _am_ helping, okay?"

"Foolishly, I thought we were coming to an understanding," she keeps talking _at_ her, not listening to a single word Rook has to say. "I could've killed you. But so far, I've been choosing not to."

Wow. Fucking _rude_ , Rook thinks, and then - _huh, so that's how it feels._ She almost pities Wheaty, because, objectively, that's a pretty awful thing to say to someone.

"If this _defiance_ is the only language you choose to speak," there's unconcealed threat in her voice this time, desperate _wrath_ , so unlike Faith, "then I'll speak your language."

Bliss fog swirls all around her, and soon enough she might as well be running in a perfect circle for all she can see. No matter how many times she changes direction or pace, she's still inevitably approaching the same mountain peak, looming over her in the distance. It's as if Faith is enveloping her with Bliss, keeping her on the right path, steadily, defiantly.

The next time she hears a voice, it's Jacob's.

"Don't you find it ironic that nearly everyone that gets close to me winds up worse off?" A bullet pierces through the teal fog, and misses. "Eli, Pratt, you… Tragedy's just… following along."

Another shot, another miss, and at this point it’s clear it's intentional, a bait Jacob throws at her to force a retaliation. Rook doesn't rise up to it. She sees it, clear as day, what he's getting at. Whether he's actually serious about it or if it's another mindfuckery to get her to do what he wants, is another matter entirely. Point is, he's still broadcasting his intent all over the mountains, and…

She hates to admit it, but if it's not her, then somebody else will rise to the occasion. And they will not hesitate.

She cannot let that happen. If Jacob is so hell-bent on this, the least he deserves is her being there for him, face to face.

"If you really wanted to keep people safe… be a _hero_ … You'd just come and get me. Safer for everyone that way."

Alright, then.

If he wants hell, she'll give it to him.

 


	24. The Sermon On The Mount

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood music: Horizons by Puscifer

 

 

Jacob knows exactly what it feels like to be in the crosshairs of a marksman.

The prickling at the back of his neck. The stillness in the air around him. As if time has stopped existing, not in the whole world, but just between the two of them. He imagines Rook's breath, steady, her chest rising and falling, reveling in her pursuit. He doesn't even have to _imagine_ , necessarily - he'd seen her tracking prey before, her entire being narrowing, distilling itself into a laser focus, determined, unflinching, unmovable.

He cannot spoil her hunt.

Jacob has to remind himself, as many times as it takes to believe it - _he doesn't know she’s there_. It would ruin everything, if she were to even suspect he's allowing her to get this close, that he's letting her win. This time, he can't rely on her doing what she's told. He didn't have quite enough time to set this final part of the plan in motion properly, to make it seem _natural_ to her, but she's coming to him, anyway. It's as good as it’s gonna get, and entirely up to him to not fuck it up.

She has to do what he can’t - not anymore. Protect whatever families there’ll be in this new world Joseph has foreseen. Most importantly, protect _his_.

He probably wouldn't even hear the gunshot, Jacob thinks, equal parts bitterness and relief. She's a stealthy one. Won't even hear her coming. Won't get a chance to see her before he kicks it. And maybe that’s how it should be - end it with no words, like warriors. End their shared misery, the only kindness he can ever give her.

After all, she made him feel… _okay_.

Gritting his teeth, Jacob finally admits that it's so much worse than feeling nothing at all.

 _He doesn't know_. He repeats this to himself. Over and over. Keep up the act, and Rook will stay on the path he'd decided for her. What is there to stop her, anyway? A misguided illusion of _feelings?_ Joseph's fucking prophecy?

He shakes his head. He has no doubt she will take the shot.

And she does.

To Jacob's surprise, he does, in fact, hear it. Even if one uses a silencer, at a close enough range you can still hear the shot, and he does, but then he's distracted by something much, much more pressing, and that is _pain_. He can’t help but roll over, clutching at his side where the bullet passed. It's barely a graze, a small thing he wouldn't even notice under different circumstances. He can sure as hell feel it this time, because he expected to be fucking _dead_ by now, but instead, true to herself, Rook keeps making his existence needlessly more complicated.

"What. The fuck. Is. _Wrong_. With. You." He rolls on his back to face her, his voice loud enough to make sure she hears him, wherever she's hiding.

As it turns out, there's no need for that. Rook is right there. No more than a couple of feet away from him, balancing precariously on a fallen log, she lowers the pistol, but doesn't put it away. Gracefully jumping off and onto the clearing, she finally looks up at him.

"Shush," she holds a finger to her lips. "Didn't spare your wolves for nothing. Don't want them to come howling to protect you _now_."

He eyes her, incredulous.

"Ruined my fuckin' jacket," he grumbles, holding out a bloodied hand, putting a finger through the brand-new hole for her to see. "If you're doing something, might as well do it right."

"D'you think I missed accidentally?" She asks, walking towards him. Her eyes are cold and determined. He can feel it coming, and pride surges within him. She wants to look him in the eyes, when she does it. She doesn't shy away from facing him, difficult as it must be, and Jacob can’t help but find honorable kinship, an unexpected respect and understanding in this decision of hers.

She looks so goddamn beautiful, he thinks. Jacob has never seen anything as incredible as her, right now, in this very moment. Sunlight playing off her hair, still a mess, but now long enough to be carried in a soft breeze. Covered in dirt and scrapes, drenched in sweat from running, her tank top clinging to her body like second skin, eyes narrowed. His personal angel of death, right there.

Pistol gleaming, she looms over him.

"I wanted your gun," Rook says, nonchalantly, her tone a stark contrast to her position, to her weapon at the ready. Sure enough, his candy red sniper rifle is lying on the ground, nestling comfortably in moss and fallen leaves. He didn't even notice dropping it.

"Shirking your duties, _soldier_ ," Jacob says, because he has to say something, anything at all for her to react to. "Still thinkin’ this is a fuckin' joke."

She snorts and slumps down next to him, leans against the rock he'd been using as cover. She looks drained. She also looks like she's not planning on moving any time soon.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know, Jacob," she says, earnestly, looking into the distance. There's someone else’s blood on her face, and he almost reaches out to wipe it off, but thinks better of it.  "I was hoping you'd tell me. A bit… naive, yeah, I see that now. You just expect me to do whatever it is you want me to do without actually being open and honest about it, as always. Don’t know what possessed me to believe this time would be any different."

She sounds bitter, and Jacob doesn't interrupt her. Maybe, given some time, she'll rile herself up enough, so he doesn't have to.

"Eli's dead, just like you wanted. The herd is culled, and all that. I hoped to God that would finally set me free from this, free from _you_ , like you fucking _promised,_ but no, here I am. Making sure no harm comes to you, in case anyone else gets the bright idea of hunting you down."

"You killed Eli," is all Jacob can say. "You knew what was gonna happen, and you did it anyway."

"I did," she agrees, easily. "And Tammy, too. Good riddance, honestly. Do you know what she was doing to your people? With Eli's blessing?” A shudder courses through her. “You’re fucking _welcome_."

Fair enough.

"Why don't you kill me, then?" His words are quiet, but not quiet enough to conceal a smallest of cracks in his voice. "Fulfill your purpose."

"Offing those two not enough for you?" Jacob can't figure out whether she honestly has no idea what he means or if she just wants to hear him beg.

"That was your _test_ ," he clarifies, choosing neither.

She looks at him, holds his gaze for an uncomfortably long while, and he can see it dawning on her. He isn't fucking with her.

She looks… _lost_.

"And this," she gestures at him, voice sharp, " _this_ is my sacrifice?"

"C'mon, dep," he murmurs, softly, "you know what happens to the weak."

He ducks down, leaning in close, pressing his forehead to hers, one hand in her hair, the other - on her pistol. She doesn't notice, at first, still has a lot to learn, but Jacob is hopeful that she will. When he pulls out the weapon, Rook tries to back away, escape, but Jacob holds her tight.

"You can do it," he whispers to her, "I know you can. You're _strong_. You've killed what must amount to what, hundreds of people by now."

"Do you think I fucking _like_ it?" Her voice is bordering on hysterical.

"No," Jacob shakes his head, squeezing the pistol into her hand, wrapping his own over hers." I know you don't. You do what needs to be done."

Rook's fingers are trembling under his, so he guides her hand, pressing the muzzle into his chest.

"You've earned it." It's a soft encouragement, despite the pain and the fear choking him. "You've worked so hard. You've suffered so greatly."

"I have," Rook sobs, and her tears leave trails on her dirty cheeks. "So fucking much."

"Just a little more," he promises, "and you'll be free. Just one more kill. Take it. It's yours. It's always been yours."

"Only mine?"

" _Only yours_."

Jacob can feel her nod at that, and closes his eyes. She's made her decision. Eventually, there's no more tears dripping down on their joined hands. She's taking deep, steady breaths, and he doesn't feel the passage of time as much anymore. Jacob closes his eyes and listens to the world outside of him. Branches, scratching against wood. The last firewood crackling away into embers, far, far away from here. Nobody calling his name, reminding him of past mistakes, reopening old wounds, not anymore, never again.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

Repeat.

_Repeat._

He's swept away in the sense of acceptance. And in that acceptance, comes clarity.

It's easy to be honest with yourself after you've made peace with the fact you are going to die. Too little, too late, Jacob thinks, and maybe it's a shame he'll never get to share this newfound truth with her. But at least he gets this - his last moments spent with her by his side, crying for him, mourning him.

Joseph was wrong there. He will be mourned. He will not be forgotten. His legacy will be carried into the new world, and she will take her rightful place in it. She will live. She will be safe. And this certainty brings Jacob more peace than anything else.

Because he loves her.

He didn't think dying would feel like this. For the longest of times, it doesn't really feel like anything at all.

And then, it feels like he's being knocked flat on his back.

"Good." Rook says, getting up from her low crouch. In passing, Jacob notes how much she's improved on close quarters combat, to squirrel out like that and push him off her in one swift movement. " Means I get to decide what to do with it."

It takes Jacob a couple of seconds to get his bearings, come to terms with her choice, just long enough for her to lie down next to him. They stare at the clear sky above them, their shoulders barely brushing together.

"And what, pray tell, do you intend to do with it?" He breaks the silence, shielding himself from her behind sharp, biting tone. "Too chicken to do what you gotta do, gonna take me to Wheaty or some other Resistance kid to finish the job?"

"Pretty sure that ship's sailed," she snorts, quietly, and there's no regret in her voice. "At this point, they'd off the both of us. And that would fucking suck, all this effort to be wasted like that."

"So you keep saying," Jacob turns his head towards her, " _wasted effort._ What is it you were trying to achieve here, deputy? Because right now, your reasoning escapes me."

"Oh, that's fucking _rich_ , coming from you. You wanna talk reasoning, Jacob?" Rook turns towards him too, and Jacob sees the tears welling up again. "Please explain the fucking _reasoning_ behind this suicide-by-cop stunt of yours."

"Seemed like the best idea at the time," he says, carefully, testing his own feelings about it more than anything else. "Thought I'd give you the purpose you deserve. People out there, they need you. My family needs you. To help do what's necessary. To help people make decisions they can’t. That _I_ can't."

"You're a fucking idiot," Rook says. "Making up problems for the sole purpose of finding the most drastic fucking solutions to them."

 _Yeah._ There's absolutely nothing to say to that.

"Are you gonna let me go now?" She asks when the pause drags on too long for her liking.

"Depends. Do you want to go?"

Jacob can see her thinking, trying to put her feelings into words, she opens her mouth to speak and stops herself several times over. He's ready for whatever answer she gives him, he tells himself.

Doesn't mean he can't hope.

"No."

"What do you want, then?"

"Yeah, not happening.” Rook barks out a small laugh. “That's not fucking fair. What do _you_ want, Jake?"

" _That_ ," he grits his teeth, defensive, "doesn't matter."

"Yes, it fucking _does!_ You're your own person, and you can have your own wishes and hopes. It's _okay_. You're not a role you fulfill - not just that. You're not a tool. You're a human fucking being, and I'm asking you, what does Jacob Seed - the real actual human being - want?"

_Huh._

It's such a simple question with such a simple answer, and yet he can't bring himself to say it.

"I want this fucking mess to be over with. I want you back at the Center, running things with me, like you were fuckin' supposed to, and by my side when the world goes to shit." Jacob closes his eyes. He's still skirting around the issue, but that's as honest an answer as he can give. He awaits her judgment, but his Rook is merciful, and he doesn't have to wait long.

"Should've fucking started with that. It’s all pretty straightforward, to be honest." Rook whispers, and adds, when he's silent for too long, "what's stopping you _now_?"

For once, Jacob decides to trust her.

He reaches out for her, pulls her close, buries his face in her hair. She complies, but not just because he makes it quite difficult to wriggle out this time. No. She returns the comfort he gives her with equal enthusiasm, molding her body against his, a perfect fit, like always.

Jacob dares to trust that both of them want the same thing - to stay in this moment forever.

 


	25. Eulogy To The Lone Wolf

The new Herald of Whitetail Mountains shows up for the Family gathering wearing Hope County issued deputy uniform, and John admires the sheer _nerve_ of this woman.

Black slacks, green shirt, and a freshly minted badge. Obviously not the same set she'd arrived in all those months ago, this one is pristine, ironed, but still instantly recognizable. Her uniform is a symbol. Once it branded her as the enemy, the outsider, the threat to the Project, and there are plenty who still see her that way.

John knows it's taken a while for her to get Jacob's men to trust her as they do now. Some of them came around quicker than others, especially those already wary of Jacob's temper and fearful of his methods. But where Jacob thought them weak, she called them smarter than the rest. His brother would've laughed at that, John thinks, but when she brings the Militia into the fold, integrating it seamlessly into Project's forces, _nobody_ dares to laugh at her anymore.

Nobody laughs, but not everyone is as accepting of her as Joseph and Faith seem to be, either.

She's bound to piss off so many people outside of the Project, flaunting her uniform like that, throwing it in the face of the remaining Resistance. They are _not_ going to be happy, reminded of that perceived slight against them. It can be easily interpreted as the deputy taking pride in the betrayal the Resistance no doubt finds her guilty of. At least she doesn’t lack courage, and John can only hope it’s enough for her to handle her new responsibilities without crumbling.

But that's not even the worst of it. What _really_ irks John is that he'd specifically asked her to put some effort into looking presentable for this day. She represents the Family now, after all. It’s her duty to embody the virtues the Project stands for. The uniform fits her well, sure, but it's not exactly what he had in mind.

"Proud of your work, hm?" He asks Faith when she shows up, already by his side, her entrance unnoticed. It's only the faint shimmer of Bliss that betrays her arrival.

"Yes," she smiles, "I am. It’s beautiful, isn't it?"

"You _do_ realize you're just enabling her at this point? You made that name tape for her, and now there's no chance in Hell she'll _ever_ dress with any sense of style or propriety."

Faith laughs, quietly.

"Your opinion on this doesn't really matter, John," she tells him, and somehow the words don't sound condescending at all. "She made her choice, and _he_ wouldn't have it any other way."

Jacob enters the church, following the deputy, and it seems his efforts to keep up appearances have been restricted to finding a clean t-shirt and giving his beard a trim.

John rolls his eyes. Perfect match, these two.

His expression soon turns stony as he watches them embrace. His brother laughs at some unknown joke shared between them, gestures of affection exchanged, subtle and proper, something he could never even hope to understand. Judging by Jacob’s face, the corners of his eyes creasing with a genuine smile, it means more to them than John can comprehend, too.

He's not jealous, John tells himself. Nope, not one fucking bit. Why would he be? All of this, and more, is right at his fingertips, at his beck and call, and the only thing he has to do is pick any phone number at random.

He’s not jealous at all.

Faith puts her hand on his shoulder. A tap of her fingers, so thin and frail, and yet the warmth and concern spread through, clear as is she were speaking to him out loud.

Okay, yeah, he is.

He’s not jealous that Jacob has _her_ , specifically. Of course not. At least that he can be honest with himself about. He just… wishes things were different. That his life would’ve lead him in a different direction, a place where he doesn't ever have to gamble with who to call when needed.

"It's  _so_ good finally to see Jacob happy, though," Faith beams at him, lighting up the entire church with her smile.

"Don't let him hear you say that," John snorts. "Or, you know what, please do. I wanna see his face when you call him _happy_."

The couple approaches them. Deputy exchanges the last couple of words with Joseph, her tone and expression reassuring him about the matters of security. Jacob stands by her side, providing all the support and no interference.

Faith rushes to hug both of them before they manage to take their rightful place behind Joseph’s chair, and John watches as his brother doesn't flinch from the physical contact, at least not as much as he used to. Jacob smiles more now too, and more sincerely, his posture is relaxed more often than not, his words and actions - more confident than ever.

His own preconceptions aside, John is grateful. He's not sure how, but now that they've found each other, both Jacob and the deputy seem to be on the road to recovery, together, healing from the suffering they'd endured in their separate pasts, as well as the trials they’d put each other through.

John can't help but smile at the name tape deputy is wearing so proudly.

I.SEED, it reads.

Then, the camera starts rolling, and they listen to the words of The Father in reverent silence along with the rest of the county.

John has heard it before. Joseph practiced and rehearsed every iteration of this eulogy in front of the Family before settling on the final version, but it still gives him chills. To think how easily this could've been something else entirely.

 

_"My children, a seal has been opened… My brother Jacob is a fighter. He fought our parents. He fought the government. He fought me. But mostly, he fought himself…_

_No more. Now he fights for us. He fights for our Family - old and new. He fights those who would do his loved ones harm._

_He thought that he was a weapon without a purpose. That he was a warrior without a legacy. But now, my brother has found purpose. He is building his legacy. Those who made him believe he was nothing more than a tool to be used and pointed at the enemies of the powerful have no power over him anymore._

_The demons that he brought home from the war have been exorcised. His soul is at peace, and we are all happier and safer for it._

_My children, love is not a weakness. Love nurtures you. Love gives you purpose. Love will make you strong. Jacob was strong without love, but he was also harsh. Cruel. Fueled by wrath and pride._

_I will welcome you, my children. We will welcome you. Come to us with love and strength and leave the weakness and sin to the doomed."_

 

Joseph closes his book with a loud thud, a dramatic, practiced movement, signaling that the sermon is over.

When the camera and the lights are off, when the necessity to perform their roles is gone, John watches Jacob and the deputy leave the church without so much as a goodbye, hand in hand, their mutual happiness offensively transparent.

"Not staying for dinner?" He calls out to them, and his sister in law looks at him over her shoulder.

"Nope," she grins, "the bill has come due. Jake owes me a ride into the sunset."

Jacob tugs her hand, impatient.

"There won’t be no fuckin’ rides,” he says, without so much as a break in his step. "I made it _clear_ we're never traveling by land _again_.”

“How _did_ you crash the car that one time? I don’t think you actually ever told me that story in full.”

Silence follows, and John is certain they’d already walked out of his earshot, when a distant laughter reaches him.

"Okay, yeah _, flying_ off into the sunset sounds much better. Much more badass. _And_ we don’t have to worry about John borrowing your plane again. Thank you."

At least Jacob has some sense of style, John thinks.

There's hope for them yet.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of a fat lady singing. Drama and suffering are over, the curtain is falling, happily ever afters are being had all over the place – well, almost. Whistle “We'll meet again” for me, would you?
> 
> It’s been a wonderful ride – and there’s no way I could've ever made it through writing this without my amazing, supportive, creative, and all-around perfect beta reader. Greetz_dk, my lovely love, huge thank you for everything you've done for me and this story.
> 
> And all of you awesome people who've been reading, following, and appreciating my work – man, I don’t even have words to express how grateful I am. All of your kind words and reactions mean the world to me. I loved writing it and I’m incredibly glad you guys loved reading it <3


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